Forget Me Not
by kookith
Summary: AU. NeumannxNatarle, AzraelxNatarle, NeumannxOC. After two years, three girlfriends and innumerable sleepless nights later, it is still her name that escapes his lips every morning as he wakes up. Rating changed.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

The young man with hair of midnight blue sat at the table, mindlessly fiddling with the cutlery laid in front of him as he looked out the window, eyes searching in the pouring rain outside for the woman he was waiting for.

"Arnold!" A familiar cheerful voice called out to the man, and he looked up to see the person he had been waiting for the past twenty minutes or so. "Isabella," he greeted in return with a welcoming smile on his face.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, you know, the rain…" the woman apologized as she brushed away a strand of her long light brown locks, the same time nodding in thanks to the waiter who had just handed her a menu. She then turned back to Arnold with a small nervous shrug and an apologetic smile, "And I had to go pick up something just now."

"It's alright," Arnold smiled reassuringly. "Do you want to order something now?" 

"In fact, no," Isabella shook her head enthusiastically with a mischievous grin, "not before I give you this." Excitedly she took out from her handbag a small box and laid it in front of Arnold. "This little thing was what made me late. I was originally expecting to have it earlier than today."

"Mind if I have a look now?" Arnold asked, though with the expectant gaze the woman was giving him he knew that he would have to open the present even without him asking. As he opened the small white box, an expensive looking watch revealed itself.

With a mixture of nervousness and eagerness Isabella asked while eyeing the watch the blunet was already wearing, "Do you like it? I see you wearing that same old watch all the time, so I thought maybe you'd like a new one."

Isabella looked back at Arnold as he concentrated on his own watch he was wearing; she was expecting a thankful reply from him, but the moment she saw the complicated expression on his face, she understood that he probably was not appreciating the gift as she hoped he would.

Then came the reply, almost hesitantly, "This was a gift from an old friend. It reminds me of the days when things were more…simple. But I guess it _is_ time to move on." He looked at the Isabella thankfully, as if she had just woken him up from dream that lasted a decade long. "So, thank you."

Relieved and delighted by his response, Isabella gave a smile of content.

"But…" Arnold started again with a hint of curiosity in his voice, "you didn't tell me what the occasion was."

Isabella immediately sat up, and with a playful pout she raised the menu in her hands, then softly landing it on the top of Arnold's head. "It's the sixth month anniversary of us being together, you silly! I know we're still just dating, and it's not really such a big deal, but I think it's still something worth a bit of celebrating!"

Arnold looked at her with wide eyes, "I'm sorry," he immediately apologized, knowing how sensitive the other gender group can be when it came to small details like this. "I'm sorry, I had no idea…And I didn't get you anything…I-"

"It's alright," Isabella quickly cut his rambling off with a wave of her hand. For a moment Arnold thought she was just pretending not to be angry, but when he saw that sincere and comforting grin filled with playfulness, he knew that she was genuine with her words. "I know, men aren't good at remembering these things," she added teasingly.

"Right. I promise I'll make up to you." Arnold replied admittedly.

"Then…you take me to the zoo this Saturday, since you promised last time but never had time for it." Isabella leaned forward with her eyes narrowed accusingly at her boyfriend.

Arnold simply returned with a grin. "Deal."

* * *

**A/N:** So, here it is!! Har har har, I finally did it. My first completely AU multi-chaptered fic. 

And erm, rating may change, so don't say I didn't warn you. But I don't think there'll be anything too explicit simply because I don't know, don't plan on learning, and don't want to write lemon. Still, I will warn you a chapter or two before the rating goes up, just in case you want to read the fic but not putting it on alert.

Oh, and also, beware of OOCness…someone please give me a shout if this problem is seems to be getting out of hand. Thanks!!

Right, now that all warnings are given, let's go on to the next chapter!! (Yes, as to apologize for making all those false promises on my profile page but not updating even once in the past -_gasp_- two and a half months, I've done two chapters. Hope you guys accept my…well, utmost apologies.)


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

"Remind me again why I'm coming to this ball-slash-party-slash-whatever-big-deal-dinner with you?" Arnold asked Isabella with an unenthusiastic tone in his voice as she for one last time made sure that they both looked presentable before they entered the venue.

As Isabella slightly repositioned Arnold's stubbornly out of place tie, he took another quick look at the gorgeous lady in front of him, and was once again amazed by how beautiful she was looking. She was wearing a stylish low cut dress of sapphire blue color, and her straight brown hair was tied up into an elaborate bun behind her head, giving her a sense of gracefulness that he had never seen in her usual lively self.

"Because you failed miserably at your little task of finding time to go to the zoo with me, _again_, may I add." She softly hit her date on his chest as was finished with his tie. "Plus, it's a good chance for me to meet all these famous people and work on my networking skills, considering that I actually work in journalism," she continued, sliding her hand into his arm as the two moved into the ballroom, "which you may be able to help me out with, because some of these people you probably know already, Mr. I-own-my-own-company."

Arnold let out a small laugh. Isabella was an ambitious young woman, not in the bad sense though; she was an honest girl and had her morals, but she was also smart and hardworking enough to close up the gap that some try so hard to widen with deceitful means, which was remarkable especially when considering her profession. He respected her for that, and as the current owner of his family business – though it was not a large one – he still had ties with some of the big names in the city, and he was willing to help her out on when she needed it – which now obviously included accompanying her to these balls and dinner parties that he was never really fond of.

As Isabella made her way through the ballroom, with Arnold occasionally introducing her to some of his business partners, she managed to make quite a promising progress with her objective of the night.

While Arnold was standing supportively next to Isabella as she was making a conversation with yet another CEO of some company, a familiar presence from across the room caught Arnold's attention.

The raven haired beauty stood elegantly amongst a small group of eminent people, whom all of them most likely had their faces on the headlines at one point or another, but her presence seemed more appreciated than any of the prominent figures she was standing with. Her short black hair contrasted perfectly with the floor length pearly white dress she was wearing, and with a bare back and a slit reaching all the way up to the middle of her left thigh, the dress accentuated her tall and slender body, easily crowning her the most exquisite creature in the large and populated ballroom. She wore very little jewelry, but the simplicity of her attire was precisely what made her look no less than a goddess.

'Unreachable' would have been the exact word Arnold would use to describe her, given whatever he already knew about her, which was why he then took a special note of how her companion, a tall blond in a baby blue colored suit, held his arm possessively around her waist, as if to warn anyone who were to set their eyes on this woman that she was already taken.

It was either telepathy really existed, or that Arnold was staring too much. To his astonishment the woman suddenly turned her attention away from the circle and looked straight towards his direction, immediately catching sight of him. A stunned look instantly formed across her delicate face, which then slowly transformed into a troubled frown, and her amethyst eyes seemed like they had so much to say to him, yet her soft lips were unmoving.

Out of sheer uneasiness, Arnold instantaneously looked away.

"Arnold," an angelic voice called for him, and he looked over to the lady whose hand he was still holding onto. "Are you alright? You seem a bit…agitated."

Arnold mustered up a quick smile to reassure his date, but something else had already caught her attention as her gaze was focused into the distance behind him. "Oh my god." She softly cried, unable to hide the excitement in her voice. Following her gaze, Arnold turned around.

It was her again.

"Arnold, come on," she was now slightly pulling him by his arm, motioning towards the very woman Arnold just turned away from, "I _have_ to meet her."

An unwilling frown instantly appeared on Arnold's face as he questioned, "Why?"

"Arnold, you've got to be kidding me. How could you _not_ want to meet her? She is _the_ Natarle Badgiruel; daughter of the millionaire Edward Badgiruel, fiancée of the _billionaire_ Muruta Azrael, successful and famous lawyer in her own right, not to mention that she's such a beautiful being." Isabella sighed dreamily like a high-school fan-girl, and then turned to Arnold with a serious look on her face as she dragged him towards her target, "She's my idol; I _cannot_ not meet her, especially when a chance like this doesn't come around often, and you are coming with me!"

Isabella waited for a moment for her heroine, surprisingly without her escort, to finish her conversation while she tried to keep Arnold in place beside her before finally stepping up to the woman and introducing herself.

"Hello, Miss Badgiruel," Isabella nervously greeted her, "I'm Isabella Morris. I really admire you…I think you're one of the most successful women I've ever got to meet." Isabella silently cursed herself for making the lamest introduction she had ever heard of, _'so clichéd,'_ she mentally added, but she gave the other woman a sincere gaze to prove her words truthful.

Astonished at first, Natarle then let out a small but appreciative smile and thanked her. Then to Isabella's surprise, she turned to the reluctant man standing next to her.

"It's been a long time, Arnold." Natarle softly spoke, even somewhat hesitantly.

"Yeah," Arnold replied with even less effort in his voice.

It astounded Isabella how cold Arnold sounded with that one simple word he said. And all of a sudden, Isabella realized that there was this uneasy atmosphere that dawned between the two of them. Somehow it was like the two existed in a totally different dimension from hers now, which she felt like there was no way for her to reach either of them.

"So, how are you doing?"

"Very well." The moment these brief words were heard, Isabella felt Arnold's grasp of her hand tighten.

Natarle seemed to take notice of that, and instinctively took half a step back as she nodded slightly.

After a few seconds of awkward silence that seemed like eternity to them three, a young man suddenly appeared from behind Natarle, gently placing a hand on her bare shoulder as he leaned forward to speak to her, "Miss Badgiruel, Mr. Azrael's been looking for you."

Natarle gave the man a nod of confirmation, then looking back at them, "If you will excuse me, please." She turned away slightly, but turned back again, "It's been nice to meet you, Isabella," she gave Isabella one last smile before walking off.

"I had no idea you knew her!" Isabella exclaimed in confusion the moment Natarle was out of sight. "How did you know her? Why didn't you tell me? And you didn't even bother to introduce even after I told you that she is my idol!"

"She's just a friend…of a friend. And I hardly even know her." Arnold defended himself offhandedly as Isabella glared at him with suspicion.

"But you looked like you had something against her or what." Isabella asked with a bit of hurt in her voice, as if she wanted to stand up for her the woman she admired instead of her own boyfriend.

"I just didn't know what to say…I didn't think she would remember me…I hardly even remember knowing her at all!"

"Really?"

"Yeah." Arnold let out a long and exhausting sigh. "Look, I'm starting to get really tired with this whole thing. Should we just go home?"

Isabella wanted to refuse, but when Arnold raised an eyebrow expectantly at her, she realized that she could no longer turn down his request.

* * *

**A/N:** Yay!!! Natarle makes an appearance!!! And there you go, the first two chapters of my _first_ multi-chaptered fic!! 

Reviews please!!


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Isabella was concentrating to finish the page of the article she was reading when the sound of her door bell made her jump from her seat. "Coming!" she yelled to the door while she got up, eyes still focused on the last few lines, quickly scanning through before she went to attend to the person at the door.

She opened the door to see her expected guest, "Hey, come in." She gestured for him to walk inside after giving him a slight peck on the cheek, "Grab a drink and sit down, read a magazine or whatever, I'll be right with you."

"Am I too early?" Arnold took a glance at the clock, but then found that he was in fact five minutes late.

"Oh, no! I was just working on something, and I just really want to get it done first."

Arnold could not help but notice the excitement in her voice, and so he noted to the woman who had already disappeared behind the computer that was surrounded by stacks of folders, magazines and articles, "You sound like you're really enjoying it."

Isabella's face reappeared above her computer monitor, and she was grinning childishly at him. "It's this new assignment Murrue gave me, and I can't believe she actually gave me this chance to interview this person!"

Arnold smiled at the mention of the name Murrue, the boss of Isabella and editor of the magazine she was working for. She was also his friend of many years, and the very person who introduced Isabella to him. "And who did she give you to interview this time?"

Isabella could not resist letting out a giggle. "It's Natarle Badgiruel!! I'm so glad I'm finally getting to meet her properly! I've been doing so much more research on her, and she's just the most amazing person ever! Well, other than you," Isabella sheepishly smiled for a bit, "but anyway, I was going to-"

"Isabella, I think we should go now," Arnold cut her rambling off as he suggested, "or else we'll be late for our dinner booking."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Right I'll grab my things and we can go."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

At dinner Isabella once again brought up the topic of the upcoming interview, and she filled Arnold in with details of whatever she knew about her idol. After the ball they went to in no more than a month ago the name had never came up in their conversations again, but now Isabella could not stop talking about the person that fascinated her most.

In a striking contrast, Arnold seemed totally uninterested to the information Isabella was feeding him.

"You seem like you're tired." Isabella casually noted as they finished dessert.

"I'm fine," Arnold replied, but his voice was unconvincing.

"Arnold, is something wrong-"

"No!" Arnold exclaimed, a bit too loudly that he intended to. "Sorry," he apologized half-heartedly, "…but I'm fine."

Stupefied at Arnold's uncharacteristic behavior, Isabella did not know how to react. And to make it all the worse, now all those around were staring at them.

Arnold sensed the awkwardness, so he quickly paid the bill and brought Isabella back home before getting back to his own apartment.

None of them said anything else on their way back.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It was around nine o'clock at night, about the time Arnold would usually go for a shower, or crash in front of the television for a bit of relaxation, but after dinner he was still in a frustrated mood, and when he decided that he could not go to bed at such an early time or in this manner, he went out for a walk to clear his head.

He was not really paying much attention to where he was going, and when he realized where he arrived after a thirty-minute stroll, he mentally cursed his intuition for bringing him here when this was the very place he constantly reminded himself to stay away from.

He turned around to leave this place, more bothered now than he was earlier in the evening, as he simultaneously tried to keep certain memories from resurfacing his already frustrated mind.

It was then he heard a very familiar voice not far away, and though he could not make of what was said, he was certain that the voice sounded urgent but a bit fearful. He quickly followed the sound until he reached a rather dark corner of the street.

"If you don't want what happened to that girl happen to you as well, you'd better stop working on this case, missy!!"

"And what would make you think that threatening me would let you off a rape charge?"

"Hey!" Arnold warned the assailant the second he got to the scene, and his assumptions were confirmed when he saw Natarle Badgiruel facing the well-built angry man with her back against the wall, yet still uncompromising and dignified.

"This is none of your business, so you'd better leave before you get yourself into trouble!!"

"If you dare lay a finger on her you'll be the one who's in trouble." Arnold returned the warning in a no-nonsense tone as he made his way towards the stunned woman.

"Who do you think you are?!" The man yelled as his fist headed straight towards Arnold, who ducked away in time, and the punch landed onto the wall behind him.

"Nobody, but _you_ are certainly landing in jail sooner than you hoped if you don't leave now." Arnold gave one last warning, and not wanting to attract more attention and get himself into further trouble, the man shot both Arnold and Natarle a murderous look before he left the scene.

Still a bit taken aback by Arnold's sudden appearance, Natarle stared at him with questioning eyes. When she realized from his uncaring glance that she was not going to be getting any answers, she remembered that she still had to thank him. But before she could start, Arnold gave her a despising glare.

"I just saved you, and you don't even bother to thank me."

Natarle's eyes widened in disbelief, then, obviously offended by his rudeness she retorted coldly, "I don't recall asking you for help. I was totally capable of handling that myself."

Arnold sniggered in disapproval, but did not bother to return any words, instead started walking off.

There was a lot more that Natarle would have said back to him, given his attitude, but after a whole day's work and the incident just now, she decided that she was too tired to deal with him, so she was not going to bother and just continue on her way home. But after she took a few steps she realized that Arnold was going the same way as she was, which did not make sense, as she knew that his way home was in the different direction.

"Where do you think you're going?" She demanded.

"I'm walking you home."

"I don't need you to walk me home."

"Oh, so it doesn't really matter if that guy comes back because you can deal with him yourself, huh?"

Natarle fell silent for a moment, because whether she was going to admit to it or not, he did have a point. Shifting her gaze away, she quietly said, "I can get a cab."

Arnold turned around with an unbelieving stare, "You are less than two blocks away from where you live, and you say you'd just get a cab? I know you are rich, and oh, congratulations, engaged to an _even_ richer man, but it doesn't mean you have to just throw money away like it's nothing!"

His words came out like he was blaming Natarle for the simple reason of being engaged to one of the wealthiest men in the city, and it stung Natarle deeply; she had always hated it when people thought she was just one of those rich girls who would live their prestigious life without even making an effort, and she knew that the man standing in front of her knew this very clearly. It was a low blow of him to use that against her, she bitterly thought as she shot him a glare that was filled with hurt and anger, but had no choice but to follow when he ignored her and kept on walking.

When they finally reached her apartment building, Natarle properly thanked him this time. The two shared a moment of awkward silence together before Natarle finally turned around to leave, but after taking just one step forward she felt a strong grasp onto her wrist. Natarle looked back in confusion, and for the first time this night, she saw something of Arnold that was not full of coldness and sarcasm, but no less confusing. She could not take her eyes off the complicated expression on his face which yet she could not make of; his eyes seemingly filled with anger, hurt, and disappointment, but also passion all the same time, and his grasp so tight that it felt like he was never going to let go.

But he did.

He shifted his gaze away uneasily. "I'm sorry. And…goodnight." He hastily left these words, then turned around to walk away, leaving behind a speechless and mystified Natarle.

* * *

**A/N:** So, apparently the two are on bad terms…Hahaha. Now that's something new. 

The oh-no-Natarle's-in-danger-Arnold-Neumann-to-the-rescue (_note sarcasm_) part was a bit lame, but, oh well, can't help it. Whatever, laugh all you want.

Reviews please!!


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 

"Thanks very much for making time for this interview, Miss Badgiruel!!" Isabella thanked Natarle for at least the tenth time on this day already.

Both Isabella's enthusiasm for her work and her admiration for herself impressed Natarle, and she started to understand why Murrue was so sure that the two would be agreeable with each other when she first told her about this interview. Natarle had her doubts at first, since it was almost common knowledge that it was not an easy task to make her warm up to someone new; but this time, Murrue had proved herself correct.

"It's no big problem," Natarle reassured Isabella for as many times as she showed her gratitude today, "And again, you can just call me Natarle."

Isabella nodded with a slight blush, but then she caught sight of the clock on the wall behind Natarle, "Oh my- is it this late already?!" She started clumsily shoving all her belongings into her bag as she apologized, "I'm sorry, but I have to go…I'm on a deadline…and if I don't get it done I'll be in trouble!"

"It's alright," Natarle replied her with an amused smile, "but I never thought that Murrue was so strict in the office."

"Oh no she isn't," Isabella quickly defended her superior with a frantic wave of her hand, "it's just that I've got high standards for myself." She looked deep into Natarle's eyes with admiration, as if to remind her again that she was her role model.

Natarle nodded back in affirmation, and watched as the young journalist made her way to the door, but then as if she had a sudden realization, she turned around again, this time with a more serious gaze.

"Miss- Natarle," she started hesitantly, searching Natarle's clear amethyst eyes for approval, "I have something to ask you, but it's rather…personal."

"Yes?"

After a pregnant pause, she finally found the courage to voice her suspicions. "Did something happen…between…you and Arnold?"

Natarle was a bit taken aback by her question, and this was a subject that she had always been reluctant to touch on, but from the firm gaze she was receiving she knew that there was no escaping from it.

"…Why do you ask?"

"It's because…" the sense of insecurity was evident in Isabella's voice, but determined to get at least the smallest hint, she continued, "every time I tell Arnold about this interview, about you, he…he just…becomes this different person. He's so angry, and cold…"

It was like a stab at Natarle's heart; she had no idea that a decision she made two years ago would still have the power cause damage now, especially to the totally innocent girl now standing in front of her. "It…it was something that happened in the past. It wasn't supposed to turn out like this…I'm sorry."

Isabella wanted more, _much_ more, as an answer, but when she saw Natarle look away fearfully she knew that it would be totally inappropriate to go any further. So she thanked the woman for one last time, and quietly left.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The _ding-dong_ sound of the door bell caught Murrue's attention, but she was too busy on her laptop to answer it, so she called for her husband instead, "Mwu, can you please answer it?"

"Sure," came the reply. He opened the door, and to his surprise it was Isabella.

"Mwu! Is Murrue in? I really need to talk to her." There was desperation in her voice, Mwu noted.

"Uh, sure. Come in," he let Isabella step inside before closing the door behind her. "She's in the living room. Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Oh, no thanks." Isabella slightly shook her head and headed straight for the living room.

Murrue was surprised to see her unexpected guest. "Isabella? What brings you here?"

Isabella nervously settled herself in front of Murrue. "There's something that I need an answer to, and I can't think of anyone better to give me that other than you."

Murrue nodded, waiting for her to continue.

"I knew Arnold through you, and I know that you're Miss Badgiruel's best friend. So could you _please_ tell me what happened between them in the past?"

Murrue let out a deep sigh. Sensing that this was going to take quite a long time, she turned off her laptop and placed it beside her. She then looked at Isabella solemnly, and asked, "Are you sure you want to know?"

Isabella nodded.

Murrue thought for a second, then giving her one final warning before she passed through the final defense-line, she reminded her, "It might not turn out to be what you're expecting to hear."

Isabella's determined stare was still unmoved. So Murrue started the story between Arnold Neumann and Natarle Badgiruel; a story Isabella would soon regret that she ever wanted to know about.

**

* * *

A/N:** So, not much happening in this chapter…and I do realize it's really short, which is why I finished it so quickly. The next chapter would be all flashback, so don't come back to me and say "Hey that doesn't make sense!!" or "What, did I miss something out?" 

Preview: The story between Arnold and Natarle was that Natarle used to bully Arnold so much when they were children that Arnold still hates her now. End of story. Muahaha.

And then everyone thinks it's such a crap fic and stops reading. Nooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


	5. Chapter 4 Part 1

**A/N: **A little reminder here: the whole Chapter 4 (all parts) is a flashback chapter. No, I'm not a retard and I haven't gotten my timeline mixed up.

**

* * *

Chapter 4 - Part One**

It was eight o'clock in the evening, and Arnold Neumann was still sitting in front of the computer in his office room. He let out another exhausted sigh, and flipped through the document in his hands again with the frustration of not being able to find what he hoped to see in the neatly typed paragraphs. A soft knock on the open door was heard, and he looked up to see Natarle Badgiruel standing at the door.

"It's eight o'clock, Arnold," she softly reminded him as she walked towards his desk.

"Already? I'm sorry," he started saving the documents on his computer while tidying his desk at the same time, "I was caught up with this…project we're working on…"

Natarle noticed the weariness in his voice, just as she was aware of all the stressful problems he was facing currently, including a company crisis after his father's recent heart attack in which he was still recovering in the hospital, him taking over his father's position as president of the family business, and a huge project that if it went wrong, every thing will go down with it.

She stopped in front of his desk, and dropped her handbag onto the seat she was standing next to. "We don't have to go now," she motioned towards the stack of papers on his desk suggestively, "you can finish whatever you were doing first."

"Nah." Now that Natarle was standing right in front of him, the last thing Arnold was going to think about was work. All he wanted was to enjoy the time them two were to spend together, so he quickly grabbed his jacket from the back of his armchair, his other hand taking Natarle's, "I'm starving, let's go for dinner."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

After dessert, Arnold excused himself from the table for an incoming business phone call. If the conversation itself was not upsetting enough, after he hung up an unwelcoming figure appeared in front of him.

"Mr. Sutherland." Arnold acknowledged.

"What a surprise," the middle-aged man snorted with disgust in his tone. "I see that you're having a good time with Badgiruel's daughter."

Arnold remembered that Sutherland was an old family friend of Natarle's, not exactly on good terms though, as the Badgiruel family had always disagreed with his business etiquette, or lack of, to be precise. Arnold did not like the man too much himself either.

"You know, I'm really surprised that she's still putting up with you, especially when _everyone_ agrees with me that you two aren't exactly the perfect match. You have no idea what people say behind your back, do you?"

Arnold narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously. Of course he knew of what a few rather nosey people were saying behind him and Natarle, for the age-old reason that them two came from different social classes. But he also had his doubts with the words Sutherland said, because by 'everyone', he was sure that Sutherland meant exclusively the rich and famous, as somehow these people have the impression that they own this city, and all the other people who were outside the spotlight might as well be non-existent.

Well, with exceptions, obviously. For a second his mind wandered to the gorgeous woman sitting at the table who was quietly awaiting his return. Then again, he focused back at the task at hand, which to him was not much different than getting rid of an unwanted pest. "And your point?"

Sutherland let out an obnoxious chuckle, "She's a rich girl from a well known family, young lad. Rich girls don't settle for commoners like you. They go for _richer_ people. And you, you are still _way_ out of league."

Arnold had to look away to hide his grin. Nothing that he had not heard of, and no attempt to make it sound convincing either.

"So you think I'm talking rubbish, huh? Wait till you see, Neumann. These rich girls, they're all the same. You've seen one of them, you've seen all of them. Don't say I didn't warn you." Sutherland gave Arnold one last pitiful glance before walking away.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"Where _are_ we going, Arnold?" Natarle asked again for the fourth time already ever since she got into the passenger seat of Arnold's car, but this time with a tang of impatience in her question.

"As I said, it's a surprise. You really need to work on your patience, Natarle." Arnold could not help teasing her, and grinned when he got a quick glimpse of the glare Natarle shot at him. "We're almost there."

"What 'almost there'? We're in the middle of _nowhere_, Arnold. The last time we passed by a building was ten minutes ago."

It was so typical of her, Arnold thought with amusement, and it made him even more anxious to see her reaction when they would finally arrive at their destination. "I promise you will like it. Trust me."

When he finally stopped the car, Natarle looked at him in total disbelief.

There was nothing worth liking, in which he promised the contrary.

They were in the side of an abandoned road up a hill on the outer edge of the city, and as she stared at Arnold while he got out of the car, she started to question herself if he had confused the word 'surprising' with 'shocking', or was it that he simply could not tell the difference between the two.

Arnold opened the door for her and offered his hand, "Come out, you can't see it from in here."

Natarle tentatively took his hand and stepped out of the car. The moment she stood up straight her eyes settled on the sight over the railing on the side of the road and down the hillside, and she saw exactly what Arnold wanted her to.

It was beautiful.

The scene before her hardly resembled the city she knew so well. It was like all the gleaming stars from above had settled into a sea of light below her, and precious gems of all different colors scattered around, illuminating the midnight sky.

Arnold did not have to hear the words from her to prove that he was right all along; the expression of awe in her face had said it all, and just as she could not take her eyes off the scenery, he could not take his eyes off her.

A soft night breeze reminded him that it was still early spring, and nighttimes outdoors could be quite chilly, so he took his jacket off and draped it over Natarle's shoulders, then wrapping his arm around her.

Even in the chilliness Natarle could feel her own cheeks heat up when she turned to Arnold with a soft mutter of "Thank you."

"For what?" Arnold asked with pretended innocence, "The jacket?"

Natarle frowned bashfully, "_and_ for bringing me here."

Arnold smiled with contentment, and could no longer resist his urge to pull her into his full embrace. "No, Natarle. I'm the one who needs to say thank you."

"Huh?"

"Thank you for being here for me. These few weeks had been hard for me, and if it wasn't for you, I might have given up already."

Natarle immediately pulled apart and looked at him sternly. "You couldn't have given up!! You can't- you're not the type of person to give up!!"

Arnold chuckled; she had just proved his words correct by declaring her confidence in him. "Exactly my point."

Natarle was rendered speechless, so she then changed her point, "How could I not be there?! We've been together for four years already. That was the least I could do," she looked into his emerald eyes with all sincerity.

"Four years," Arnold repeated after her, then reaching into his pocket he pulled out a small velvet box and opened it in front of her, revealing a small and elegantly designed silver band with an amethyst stone sitting on the top. "Well, I was hoping that maybe…we could be together forever."

It was the last thing Natarle would have expected from this night out. It was supposed to be another ordinary evening, just dinner after work, and maybe a stroll in the park following that, then them back to their respective homes. But Arnold Neumann was always full of surprises, and this one was now by far her favorite.

She nodded as her lips curved into a smile of bliss.

Equally delighted with the answer he got, Arnold slowly slid the silver hoop onto his now fiancée's left ring finger.

**

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A/N:** No surprise here, I bet most of you have already guessed what the background story of those two was more or else like, unless you _really_ were expecting me to write about Natarle bullying Arnold non-stop when they were children. Oh my, please tell me you weren't. 

Anyhow, this is part one of two (or possibly three), because this chapter is simply too long that I had to break it down. And the rating will most probably go up after this full chapter.

Reviews…pretty please?


	6. Chapter 4 Part 2

A/N: Still a part of the flashback chapter.**

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Chapter 4 - Part Two**

The clock on the wall read fifteen minutes past one, meaning that it was already a quarter of an hour into lunch time, but Natarle, after taking a quick glance at the time, had barely moved from her seat, instead continued working on the piles of documents scattered around her desk. It was no surprise to her colleagues that she was to skip her lunch time again, given that she had a very important case going to court the first thing tomorrow. It was only normal, considering how well they knew Natarle, that she wanted to spend the whole day beforehand making sure that she had everything ready for it, which was why she had been given by them at this hour the privilege of absolute peace and quiet to do her work, that was until a knock was heard on her door.

Natarle let out an annoyed sigh. And there was another knock.

"Yes?!!" Natarle asked out loud.

As the door opened, Natarle was surprised to find a familiar but unexpected face standing there - with blond hair and fair skin, his tall and average-built body fitted in his favorite baby blue colored designer suit, his innocent looking features living up to his angelic name, all except for his trademark arrogant smirk that was ever so evident on his face. It was Muruta Azrael, a rather close family friend of hers she had known since she was seven years-old.

"Muruta?!" she exclaimed, "What are you doing here?"

Azrael closed the door behind him and strolled towards her desk and replied in a matter-of-factly fashion, "I came to see if you'd like to have lunch with me."

"You came all the way from the other side of the city to here just to ask me out for lunch?" Natarle asked in an uninterested voice while she continued with her work, as with her sixteen years of knowing Muruta Azrael, this would not be surprising anymore, because this man simply had too much of both time and money to do whatever he pleased, wherever, and whenever.

"Well, I did have some business matters to attend to around the block beforehand." Azrael responded after a slight thought, though from his tone of voice one would certainly come to the conclusion that it was no business of importance.

Natarle let out short sigh as she flipped through yet another document, and without even looking at the man she refused his offer, "Sorry, Muruta, I can't. I'm very busy now. I need this tomorrow."

"Come on, you can't possibly work without having lunch. You won't have the energy!" Azrael looked at Natarle hopefully, as if this argument that even a five year-old can make would be enough to persuade her.

"I do this all the time." She flatly rebutted.

Azrael looked at her with a childlike sulk as he pleaded, "Natarle…"

Natarle rolled her eyes subconsciously. "Don't whine at me. You know _very well_ that it doesn't work."

It was true. Azrael had always had his way with things since his childhood. If he could not get what he wanted with money, he would get it with his status. And if that did not work either, he would resort to threatening, taking it forcefully, or simply whining. He would whine to his father, to his mother, to his grandparents, to his servants, and to anyone else until he got what he wanted. And it worked on every single person so far, with the sole exception of Natarle Badgiruel, which the first time they met when he was thirteen years of age and she seven, he whined to someone in front of her and had won himself from her the very title as an "annoying brat" - a description fitting him perfectly but that no one ever dared to throw it straight into his face - thus leaving him a mental scar but ironically gained her his rare respect and admiration in a later date.

And so Azrael decided to change tactics.

"We could go somewhere close! Let's see…Café Rouge is not that far away, we can go there! They've got a new dessert menu as well!" Azrael threw the last sentence in in the hope that Natarle's love for desserts would change her mind, but his efforts were immediately proven futile.

"I've tried it already. Quite nice, I can tell you." Natarle tried to make a nonchalant impression at the mentioning of her experience, but when remembering the fact that she enjoyed not only the dessert following dinner in the company of Arnold two nights ago, but also had a very memorable evening afterwards made her unable to hide her smile.

"What?! How could you have tried it?! It just came out this week!" Azrael protested in utter disappointment.

"Muruta, I really don't have time today. If you really want to I can have lunch with you some other time." Natarle gave Azrael an apologetic smile, genuinely feeling sorry for having to turn him down after he made this trip from half a city away. She then reached for her desktop calendar in search for a possible day in the coming week to accommodate his demand.

And what Azrael had not noticed until now completely shocked him.

"What is this?!!!" He asked with absolute horror in his voice.

Astounded by his sudden outburst, Natarle did not know what other words to say other then a questioning "Huh?"

"This!! Is this an engagement ring?!!" Azrael grabbed Natarle's hand, pulling her up from her seat as he took a closer look at the ring on her left hand. "You're engaged?!! To whom?!!"

Natarle struggled in attempt to pull her hand out of Azrael's grasp, but the harder she pulled, the stronger was his grip, and it hurt her even more. "Muruta, let go of me!! It hurts!!!"

Her plea was ignored, as he was only interested in one thing now. "I asked to whom?!! Is it that Arnold Neumann?!! WHY?!!!!!"

"It's none of your business!!!" Natarle retorted as she continued to struggle in pain, at the same time avoiding the intense and accusing glare Azrael had set on her.

"How many times have I told you that I have feelings for you ever since we knew each other seventeen years ago?!! Even when you started dating someone else I was still waiting for you to change your mind, but never once have you accepted me, and now you're telling me you're engaged to this guy you've known for only four years?!!!!!"

"Let go!!!!!!!!!!" Natarle yelled angrily for one last time, preparing to give him her hardest slap if he was to ignore her again. And suddenly, the door burst open.

"Miss Badgiruel!! Is everything alright here?" Natarle's assistant stood from outside of the office looking inside with a very worried face.

As soon as Natarle felt Azrael's grasp loosen she pulled her hand away from him. "We're fine, thank you." She replied the young woman as convincingly as she could sound. Then the moment her assistant had closed the door behind her, she gave Azrael one last warning, "It'd be best if you left now."

Azrael treaded to the door in anger and frustration, and before leaving, he declared, "I'm not going to let it end like this."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The last words that Azrael had left Natarle three days ago had kept her in worry ever since. She was tempted for more than once to tell Arnold about what happened the other day, but every time just as the words were about to leave her lips she refrained herself from doing so, and no matter how many times Arnold pressed on she still would not tell, because she knew that Arnold had a lot more to deal with now, and some silly argument with her childhood friend, as threatening as it sounded at the time, was something she would not want to add to his burden; she was more than capable of handling it herself.

As Natarle had finished with all that was needed to be taken care of, she got everything ready and sat in her office, waiting for Arnold to call her and decide what their plans were for the night.

When her phone finally rang after forty minutes of waiting, she picked it up with eagerness manifested in her voice, "Arnold?"

She waited for a reply, but all she could hear was his uneven breathing into the phone. Now worried, she asked again, "Arnold? Is something wrong?"

After a pregnant pause, the only reply that came back was his depressed voice murmuring her name, "…Natarle…"

"Arnold? Are you alright?" The fact that the usually calm and composed Arnold Neumann had called her but was unable to speak up had made her heart fill with unprecedented fear, and she knew that she had to get to his side right now. "Where are you, Arnold?!"

"…In my office."

"I'll be right there!! Don't go anywhere else!!" Natarle reminded him in desperation before she hung up and headed off.

The closer she got to her destination, the faster her heart raced with anxiety, and when she was finally standing in front of the door to Arnold's office, she did not even wait for him to reply to her knock on the door before she rushed in.

And there Arnold was, in the darkness of the unlit room he was sitting on the edge of his desk, staring out the huge glass window into the view of the city in the still young night.

"Arnold…" Natarle slowly approached him as he turned towards her voice, eyes out of focus.

When Arnold finally managed to register the presence of the woman in front of him, his aimless gaze turned into one of a lost child, and Natarle felt her heart clench at the sight of his pained expression.

She gently palmed her hand on Arnold's cheek, and asked in genuine concern, "What's wrong?"

"Natarle…" Arnold started, but found it all too difficult to explain to her the complexity of the situation. He reached for Natarle's hands, and held it in place with his own, him feeling the warmth of her hand as he tried to reorganize in his mind what he had to tell her. "…The project…the project that we won against Djibril's company for…I…I've screwed it up…"

"H-how?"

"…Everything was alright until today…our supplier, Hoffman, suddenly called in and said that he won't be working with us anymore. He's the only one who can give us what we need for this project…"

Natarle's professional instinct immediately kicked in, and she asked, "Do you not have a contract with him?"

Arnold shook his head in denial, "No…His father is my dad's old friend, and had been our business partner ever since this company was established. There's always been a mutual agreement between us so we didn't need one after all these years. I- I don't understand why he would do this to us…If we fail this project, the company will be ruined…"

"If you need help with finances, I can always go to my father…" Natarle suggested hopefully, but Arnold looked at her with an even deeper frown.

"It's not just the money…it's our reputation, and the contract, and everything else we have…The whole company will go down, and…and my dad…" Arnold looked intensely into Natarle's eyes, his own emerald orbs brimmed with tears. "The company is my dad's _life_. He spent all these years making it become what it is now…and…I can't just tell him that everything's over!! His situation is not getting any better, and the doctor says that he can't take any more stress, because if he has another heart attack, he won't be able to make it through anymore!!"

Natarle's eyes widened with astonishment; she knew that Arnold's father was, although recovering, still not in a very good state, as every now and then she would pay the man a visit alongside Arnold, but now it seemed like the situation was more severe than what she was told. She felt a tug at her heartstrings; over the years of knowing Arnold, she had come to adore his kind and loving family as well. She could not even imagine how much impact it would bring to the family if anything were to happen to Arnold's father.

"Natarle…" Arnold's voice cracked, and as strong a person as he usually was he was almost unable to hold his tears as he encircled his arms tightly around Natarle with all his remaining strength.

"There's nothing I can do anymore…I'm putting my father onto his deathbed…_with my own hands_."

These words repeated again an again in Natarle's mind, each time with a stronger echo of Arnold's fragility. There was nothing Natarle thought as appropriate to say anymore, so instead she held her lover in her embrace for as long as it took to settle his agonized heart.

**

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A/N:** Ok, so it seems like there's going to be three parts for this chapter now…I was hoping that this whole flashback chapter was going to end with two parts, but the two sections in this part turned out way longer than I expected. Anyhow, next chapter you get to see- wait, I'm not gonna spoil you guys (though I'm well aware that some of you might have guessed what it's gonna turn out like in the next part). Oh well, all I can say is that the next part is already in the works and will be up soon! 

Hoohoohoo!!! Reviews please!!!


	7. Chapter 4 Part 3

A/N: And _still_ a part of the flashback chapter. It's the last one, I promise.**

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Chapter 4 - Part Three**

Natarle stepped into the lift and pressed the button for the top floor of the building as the doors closed. She was glad that her destination - the office belonging to the CEO of the corporation, also owner of the building - occupied the whole floor, except for the small desk outside the office and opposite the lifts where the boss's secretary would sit. She was sure that the fewer people knowing about the confrontation that was about to ensue, the better, because what she had to deal with now was a matter of great importance, and she was not going to let some random and clueless people come in and interrupt her.

A small _ding_ sound alerted her of her arrival to her destination. She stepped out and headed straight past the secretary, ignoring the woman's request for her to stop so that she could make an announcement of a guest's arrival to her superior. The poor secretary followed her down the short corridor pledging her to wait for just one second, but Natarle stubbornly disregarded her and charged right into the office.

"Miss!!" The woman cried out as a final plea when the doors were flung open.

The owner of the office room slowly turned his executive chair from facing the picture window that extended to both sides of the enormous room, around to the two women that had just entered his office.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Azrael…I tried to stop her, but she wouldn't listen…" The secretary immediately apologized.

"It's alright, Amelia. I've been expecting her anyway," the blond responded with satisfaction, paying no attention to the cold icy glare his guest was shooting him. "You can go back to your work now."

Amelia gave her boss a hesitant nod, and then retreated from the room, still speculating on what the whole issue was about.

As soon as Azrael confirmed that the door was closed and his assistant out of the way, he turned to the infuriated woman in a sarcastically relaxed and cheery demeanor. "How may I help you, Miss Badgiruel?"

"What did you say to Djibril?" Natarle questioned him without even a tinge of doubt that she might be making a wrong accusation.

Azrael raised an eyebrow at her innocently. "Sorry?"

"You know what I'm talking about! What did you tell him to do to Arnold's company?!"

Azrael let about a loud, humored chuckle and leaned further back into his seat. "What makes you think I had anything to do with it?"

"The fact that he is your cousin and his company is a sister company to yours? Not to mention that he _always_ listens to you!" Natarle pointed out the obvious in the annoyance of how Azrael was trying to act like he was clueless, when she cannot be more convinced that it was really him behind the scheme of destroying Arnold's company.

Now that there was nothing else he could hide behind, Azrael casually admitted to Natarle's accusation, "Right…I didn't really do much, just gave him a couple of pointers on how to eliminate an opponent. He was the one who decided to call in the favor from Hoffman."

"You can't do this!!!" Natarle shouted, her fists clenched so tightly that her nails were digging into the flesh on her palms, yet herself hardly even feeling the pain, because the frustration boiling inside of her was more than enough to distract her from the physical pain.

Azrael raised his hands up in the air and shrugged in a it-cannot-be-helped fashion, clearly enjoying the rare occurrence of his childhood friend's frustrated helplessness. "Honey, it's perfectly legal. Not even you little law book will be able to save your _fiancée's_ ass."

"Why? How much more profits can you make by ruining his company?!" Natarle asked bitterly at the impression that Azrael was crushing Arnold's family business - something that was of such great importance to her lover - like he was playing a child's game.

Azrael let out a sigh. "It's not about the money, sweetheart. You should know that we've all got enough of that already. It's about having one less opponent."

Natarle could not find a rebuttal for that.

A moment of silence dawned between the two, each contemplating on their next strategical move. Natarle knew that she was in no advantage if she were to talk business to Azrael, and she would be at an equal loss if she tried to find a flaw in his ploy; this man had long ago mastered the arts of both business and trickery, though the two were not of that much difference to him anyway. It left her with only one choice.

"I want you to stop this." Natarle went straight to her point, open and honest.

"And what good will it do my dear cousin?"

"It has never been about your cousin!!!"

Natarle silently cursed him. Oh how he dared to use his 'dear cousin' as a sad excuse. It had always been about him. Muruta Azrael. Always him. This whole catastrophe was the result of his unwillingness to admit defeat against Arnold for herself. It was not just Arnold's suffering, Azrael's manipulation, or Djibril's stupidity that angered and frustrated her anymore, but it was, on top of all that, her realization that she was the very reason for the torment Arnold was going through that hurt her deepest. And she wanted so desperately to reverse the damage done.

"Ah, touché." Azrael however did not seem fazed at her identifying the truth, instead he did a quick swirl of his chair, finding amusement at his first loss in the many rounds of this battle between them.

"Do you even have _any_ idea how badly this is going to turn out?!!" Natarle questioned, her tone of voice hinting at the seriousness of the consequences as if he simply had no idea of how his little game could easily destroy another person's life.

But he did know what he was doing. "Of course I do. Why else do you think I would be doing this?"

Natarle had ran out of ways to ask for his mercy. She lowered her head in a pained frown. "What _do_ you want?"

Now that was what Azrael had been waiting to hear all along. He smirked with satisfaction at the thought that he was nearing his victory. "You know perfectly what I want."

Natarle understood immediately what he meant. "And you know perfectly that I won't agree to it." She glared back at him with determination in her eyes to prove her point, hoping that he would move to his second best option.

But then she had forgotten that she was not the one with the upper hand in this negotiation.

Azrael turned around to look out his window, indicating his disinterest to any other kind of offering that Natarle might propose to him. "Well then say goodbye to your boyfriend's little family legacy." Then turning back to her again, with even more enthusiasm in his voice, he added, "And his father as well, from what I have heard."

"No!!!" The reminder of Arnold's father had at once effectively faltered Natarle's determination. She could not even bear the mere thought of becoming, albeit indirectly, the cause of the man's near-certain death if she could not stop Azrael. And she knew Arnold; whether he knew about Azrael's doing was one thing, but if anything did happen to his father at the end of this whole scandal, it would unquestionably devastate him, and at the same time send him down an endless path of remorse. But if she were to ease his guilty conscience, and tell him the truth that she was the cause of this whole disaster, who knows how he would think of her from then on? _'__I'm putting my father onto his deathbed with my own hands.' _His words echoed in her mind, and at this moment she knew clearly that their relationship would be ruined either way, just as Azrael wanted.

"_Please_." She finally added, pleadingly.

Azrael noted with hidden delight how she was almost begging him. _'Natarle Badgiruel never begs,'_ he reminded himself with a sense of triumph overwhelming him. He was winning.

"Well then think again." He offered her another chance, and after getting up from his seat he walked around the desk towards the woman, gloating at the woman's defeat in which she was still unwilling to admit to.

Natarle shook her head in disapproval at the approaching man as he closed the distance between them. "You and I will never work out."

"It doesn't hurt to try," he replied suggestively.

Natarle's heart wrenched at his words; how could he take her relationship with the man she loved with her whole heart ever so lightly? She looked at him with a devastated glare. "You have no idea."

Azrael's arrogant grin had now softened into a smile of genuine sincerity. He gently wrapped one arm around Natarle's waist, his other hand reached up to feel the soft skin on her cheeks. "Natarle, just give me one chance to prove that _I_ am the right one for you."

His prideful words were the last Natarle could take from him. She pushed him apart, and all her wrath towards him rendered into an unforgiving smack across his delicate face. She then turned around and stormed out of the office.

It took Azrael a few seconds to comprehend of her final outburst, but when she had slammed the door behind her, he let out a silent chuckle to himself as he rubbed his sore cheek to ease the pain. "We'll see."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Arnold was preparing to leave his apartment when the door bell rang. He was not expecting anyone at this time of the day, and he silently cursed his luck at the untimely arrival of a guest as he was also in a rush to the hospital to visit his father.

He quickly grabbed everything he needed from his room and went out, leaving the things on the sofa before he finally opened the door, and to his surprise, it was Natarle.

"I have something to say to you," Natarle told him solemnly.

Puzzled, Arnold slightly reached for Natarle, gesturing her to step in, but when she drew back almost instinctively from his touch, it left him even more confounded.

"Is something wrong?" He closed the door behind Natarle as he asked with concern. Unsure if he was getting a wrong impression of Natarle's sudden uneasiness around him, he made another attempt by leaning slightly closer towards her, but again Natarle took a step of retreat, backing herself against the door.

Now he was totally disheartened by Natarle's unspoken rejection. He searched his memory for the slightest hint of ever doing anything that may have upset her, but it was either his memory had deteriorated immensely over the past few days, or that he really was stupid and insensitive enough to not know that he had unintentionally hurt her, because he simply could not think of any reason for himself to be given the cold shoulder.

"Is it something I've done?" He asked nervously, like a child waiting to be punished.

Natarle seemed unmoved to his anxiousness, which made Arnold more worried than ever of what, and how big of the mistake he had made now, because it was so uncharacteristic of her to be so uncaring towards his feelings.

"Have you told your family about our engagement yet?" Natarle coldly asked.

It was then that Arnold had finally hit a realization; she was angry at him for not having shared the news with his family, while all the time he was with them he could only remember about being updated with the situation of his father.

"I'm sorry, Natarle…I- I haven't had the chance…I'm going to visit my dad now, so maybe if you want to you could come with me and we'll-"

Natarle did not allow him to finish, "No, don't." She came to an abrupt stop, as if, to Arnold, that she was hesitating.

She was.

Flashbacks of all that had happened earlier in the day with Azrael pained her again, and she was now caught between pouring her heart out to Arnold on how much she detested to have to take this step, or locking her love for this man away for all eternity, pretending it was just a dream that was too good to be true. Either step she was to take as equally heart-tormenting and destructive.

After a moment of silence, she finally found the determination to reach for the engagement ring on her left hand, slowly taking it off, and then placing it on the cabinet that was sitting next to the door against the wall, all the while under the watch of her disbelieving fiancée.

"I think it'd be a better idea if you didn't tell them."

When all Arnold could do was stare at her in bewilderment, muttering in disorientation fragmented words of "what" and "why", Natarle decided, as much as she wanted to leave it as it was in all its ambiguity, that she was responsible for clarifying to him her decision. "I've been thinking about this, about us in the past few days, and I…I don't think we're suitable for each other."

Arnold panicked, because he was sure right now that it was not about him forgetting to inform his family of the - supposed, now as it seemed - engagement anymore. Trying to salvage the distressing situation, he immediately suggested, "If you think it's too soon for us to get married, we can postpone the wedding! Natarle, I don't-"

"It's not about the wedding!!" Natarle yelled, her body shivering in exasperation. Why did he have to keep pushing it? Why would he not give up? Why did he not understand the situation? And why was he forcing her to say with her very own lips the greatest lie she was ever going to tell?

"I don't love you anymore!!!!!"

The words came out to Arnold like a big slap across his face; like it had struck him to the floor, glaring down at him with humiliation; like it was pushing him into a pit of misery, taunting him of the scorn from the woman he loved. He stood on the spot motionless, as if he had suddenly lost even the inborn ability to breathe; all he could feel was the hole in his heart, and every other part of himself had turned into total numbness, reducing him into a living statue.

Not giving Arnold any time to react, Natarle turned around to open the door and left hastily. She reached for the lifts, hoping that one of them would arrive soon enough for her to escape if Arnold was to pursue her, which he did. Natarle watched Arnold frantically come out of his flat just as a lift opened up for her, and before stepping in the lift she looked at Arnold for one last time. "Don't you dare come after me," she warned, and closed the doors to Arnold Neumann forever.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Arnold kept on wishing that it was just a nightmare.

Well, it sort of was.

The last night, when Natarle told him that she did not love him anymore, it was his worst nightmare. When he went to bed later, as little sleep as he managed to get, he still had, literally, a nightmare. And now, as he waited in the lift to arrive his destination, he was in a living nightmare.

A heartbreaking, breathing, living nightmare.

Because he was not willing to accept the fact that it was over, and he needed to hear her say the words again, even when he knew how much it would hurt to have his already shattered heart broken into even tinier fragments.

Hell, maybe even if he begged her to take her words back over and over again, and her throwing the truth back at him over and over again, and his own heart breaking over and over again, he would still refuse to believe that it was the end.

Because he simply did not understand how the two of them could have gone from happily engaged to bitterly resentful in the span of a mere five days.

As he raced down the corridors towards his destination, his heart raced along with him. He reached the office room he had visited so many times before, and opened it without hesitation.

It was then he realized that no words were actually needed to be said at all to make him accept the truth.

One simple gesture was enough have his world come crashing down.

One as simple as a kiss.

There he was, Muruta Azrael, multi-billionaire, owner of a whole empire of companies, and one of the most well-known names in the city, leaning over the wooden desk that sat in the middle of the room, kissing the very woman that until a day ago still belonging to himself.

Arnold froze on his stop with an indescribable pain reaching out to every single living cell of his being, yet as much as it hurt him he was still unable to shift his disbelieving glare away from the distressing scene. The two finally broke apart; it was only then that his presence was known.

'_Oh of course, because the two 'lovebirds' were two busy enjoying themselves.'_

Azrael turned around, casually leaning onto the desk and sneered triumphantly, while Natarle looked at him at first with surprise, then away from him in awkwardness.

She was right. Every single word she said to him the night before was true.

She did not love him anymore. It was not about the wedding. They were not suitable for each other.

Because he simply was not good enough for her. And he was stupid enough to even dream of being compared to the oh-so-mighty Muruta Azrael.

"So Sutherland was right."

"Sutherland?" She repeated after him.

"Rich girls." He repeated the man's sardonic words in mockery to himself. "You've seen one of them, you've seen all of them."

And this time, he was more certain than ever that it was the end.

**

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A/N: **Phew, that was _looooong_. Oh my, this whole chapter adds up to around 6500 words. Wow. 

So there you go, the whole story behind the two's relationship. A bit lame of an excuse to break those two up, I know, but I needed something that made sense, so who cares if it's a tad bit clichéd? Muahaha. And it seems like Azrael doesn't really have that many fans around. Poor Azzy. XD

Oh by the way, did I ever warn you guys that this isn't exactly a happy, fuzzy, fluffy, cutesy, lovey-dovey fic? Seems like not. Whoops. Oh well, I warn you now, cuz things will prolly get worse.

For those who cannot be bothered to put the story on alert, the rating for the next chapter will most prolly go up, so just make sure you know where to look next time. Thanks for reading!! And please REVIEW!!


	8. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Murrue could see from Isabella's complicated expression that the truth was all too difficult to accept. Her beloved boyfriend, the woman she admired, their heartbreaking, ill-fated past, and an unresolved future.

But where did the young brunette herself fit?

Isabella wanted to get out of the house right now, and pretend that she had never heard of this, or had never even been here today. It was crushing her from the inside to know that the quiet, gentle, and sensible man she loved, had become such an angry and distant person now, not because of any fault of her own, but because the woman who had hurt him most deeply still had his heart.

No, it was not herself, as she had naïvely believed all along, who was in possession of the prized piece. It was another woman.

Or maybe it was not that she was too naïve, but it was him who had done too well of a job to make her believe in her own fantasy.

She slowly arose from her seat, muttering a soft but habitual-sounding thank you, and with a heavy heart she headed on her way to leave.

Murrue got up and followed behind, walking behind the young woman towards the door. She knew that it was Isabella's own decision to know of the truth, but she could not help feeling blameworthy for being the one to encumber her with the burden, which was why it disheartened her even more to admit that despite the damage already done, there was one last thing she needed to know.

"Isabella," Murrue leaned forward slightly, motioning for the girl not to leave yet when she turned around at the opened door to say one last goodbye, "everything I've told you today is what Natarle had reluctantly shared with me two years ago. I had promised her that I would never say to Arnold one single word, but telling you about it is because, well, _other _people aren't exactly part of the promise. I know this might be a bit unfair to Natarle, but still, whether you want let Arnold know of the truth or not, it's now entirely your decision to make."

Isabella stared back at her, the already grim expressing on her face falling into deeper frown. She gave a slightly uncertain nod of her head and left.

After closing the door, Murrue turned around to see Mwu leaning against the wall behind her, looking at her with a suspicious gaze. She was well aware that he was there listening all along, but why he was looking at her like this she still had not idea yet. She cocked her head slightly, and gave him an innocent smile. "What?"

"Why did you remind her that she could tell Arnold about what really happened? You and I both know very well that when Arnold realizes what the truth is like, the poor girl won't stand a chance against Natarle."

Murrue's smile faltered. "That is exactly my intention, Mwu."

Mwu was silent, and his apprehensive face unchanging, urging her to continue. Picking up the hint, Murrue continued, "I know Isabella very well, and I also know that she is a nice girl who is too honest and soft-hearted to hide the truth from Arnold, and I really, _really_ feel sorry for her. But it is time to give those two a wake up call, and I am willing to use this girl as the means."

Mwu noticed the dark, determined gaze in his wife's golden orbs, a very rare sight even to him. "Were you planning this from the start?"

She let slip a deep sigh. "No. When I introduced Isabella to Arnold, I had genuinely hoped that after his previous two girlfriends, she would finally be the one for him. And she sort of was, considering how the other two never made it past the one month mark. But it was when I had realized that he isn't actually willing to move anywhere further with her that I've decided to change my plans." Murrue turned to Mwu, her intense stare turning into one that was slightly doubtful. "I am such a horrible person, aren't I?"

Mwu felt a tear at his heart when he understood how much it hurt his kind-hearted wife to have to do this. He gently pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her, planting a soft kiss on the top of her head. He could only guess how this was all going to turn out, though it was pretty obvious that with such a rocky start they were all going to be in for a hell of a ride, but if this was what she had decided to do for their two idiotic friends, he was going to support her without a single tinge of doubt. "No you're not, Murrue. No you're not."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Isabella nervously paced back and forth in front of the door to Arnold's flat with her heart beating so quickly that she felt almost nauseous. She highly doubted that telling Arnold the truth behind his former lover's betrayal was the best idea for her own good, but she was very sure that as much as she would want to hide it from him, she would sooner or later, and most probably accidentally, spill the truth, because she was simply not the type of person who could tell even the smallest lie, whether it be in good conscience or not, to someone of such importance to herself. But apart from that, there was an even more important reason behind her decision.

If she wanted to move on with Arnold, she would have to help him let go of his anger, of his past, and of _her_.

It was then she realized how ironic it was of the relationship between her and her role model. She admired that woman so much that she had fell in love with the same man she did. Within the few hours between her visit to Murrue's house and now standing in front of Arnold's flat, she had tried so many times to shift her anger towards the other woman, but every time she did so she would feel, in just a tiny fraction of a second later, such an intense amount of guilt for blaming the woman for such a great sacrifice she herself may never have the same courage to make. How she wished that Natarle Badgiruel was just a selfish, manipulative villainess like those stereotypes she read in books and seen in films, which she had completely mistaken as the most admirable woman she had ever met.

But she _was_ the most admirable woman she has ever met.

Isabella let out a long, contemplative sigh. Then suddenly, as if she had been heard, the door opened in front of her with Arnold standing there in surprise.

"Isabella? What are you doing here?"

Isabella hesitated. It was the last chance to change her decision.

"There's something that you should know about."

There. She said it. That was her decision.

She stepped into the flat after Arnold, trying hard to set her anxiously pounding heart still before she was to start talking to him on this sensitive topic.

"What is it?" Arnold asked casually with a small yawn; he did not seem to notice the nervousness of the brunette.

Isabella slowly opened her mouth to speak, and Arnold waited, and waited, but nothing came out. She just stood there, her brows knitting together tightly, eyes full of worry, soft lips slightly parted, and yet speechless and unmoving like a delicate china doll.

Arnold let out a soft, comforting chuckle, now seemingly aware of the young woman's tenseness. "What is it you want to tell me about?"

Isabella took in a long, deep breath, and stared into Arnold's emerald eyes with all seriousness.

"Natarle Badgiruel."

A sudden loud _bang_ sound sent the woman into a shock and she instinctively shut her eyes tightly, hands reflexively covering up her ears at the same time. When she finally opened her eyes again, she realized what caused the loud thud – to her horror Arnold's fist had landed onto the wall just an inch or two away from her.

He was angry. _Very_ angry.

"How many times do I have to tell you that I don't know anything about this woman, and I don't care whatever happens to her?!!!"

"Don't lie to me!!!" Isabella yelled at Arnold, for the first time since the beginning of their relationship six months ago that she had lost control of her own emotions. Her legs weakened, and as she started slumping down against the wall, all the frustration, insecurity and sadness built up inside her had been reduced into a trail of tears down her cheeks. "_Please_…don't lie to me…"

Arnold turned around, his back facing Isabella. He was too tired to deal with this anymore; every time that woman's name was mentioned he needed so much strength just to keep himself emotionally composed, and he had already lost count of how many times he had asked Isabella to stop talking about her, but she would just never listen.

"…I know what happened between you two in the past…" She sobbed.

Arnold closed his eyes, trying to shut her voice out completely.

"…I know everything…"

But he could not.

"…Even the truth that you never knew about."

Arnold immediately spun around with his eyes widened unbelievingly. What was there that he could not have known about? He was the very _victim_ of what had happened, and if there was anything he did not know of, how would she know then? He felt his heart beat faster and faster as he tried to imagine what it would possibly be missing piece of the puzzle, and he looked at the sobbing woman with eager eyes.

Isabella could not bear the impatient yet impassioned gaze from him; a gaze that was not meant for her, but there was nowhere else he could aim it at, because she was now the only bridge between him and the woman in his heart. She looked away.

"Two years ago, when you two were…engaged, her childhood friend Muruta Azrael knew about it, and he had always wanted her for himself. You remember then, when your father was in bad health, the untimely company crisis you were facing? He was behind it. And she…she agreed to be with him, so that he would stop whatever he was doing to ruin your company." She took a slight pause and another deep breath, then summarized for him her message in a last few reinforcing words, "She left you…in order to save your company…and your father…"

Arnold could not believe his own ears. He could not believe what the woman he loved had sacrificed for him. And what he refused to believe in most was that he distrusted her love for himself, and mistaking it as the worst betrayal ever. The realization of his unjustified hatred towards her finally hit him deep into his mind, alongside a destructive tide of guilt.

And suddenly, the woman in front of him was not Isabella Morris anymore. It was Natarle Badgiruel; looking back at him with her bashful smiles of delight, her stubborn pouts of determinedness, her timid sobs of sorrow, and every single memory of her resurfacing his mind after being locked into the deepest part of his heart two years ago.

" Arnold…I'm sorry…_Please_…don't leave me…"

Isabella could hardly even find the strength to speak these few words. She was now already slouched on the floor, her hands needily clutching onto Arnold's shirt, and her head lowered as tears fell to the floor, her cries exchanging between uncontrolled sobs and wails of anguish. She knew that now that the truth had been told, there was nothing that she could do to have him stay with her anymore. Such a pitiful excuse for her to resort to shameless begging, she mentally remarked to herself in sarcasm, but if that was what would keep him by her side instead of being abandoned here on the spot, then that was what she would do.

The voice of his present lover woke Arnold from his illusions. He slowly knelt down in front of the heartbroken girl, and gently wiped her tears with his hands. He was guilt-ridden; his innocent, kind-hearted girlfriend had done nothing wrong, but was forced to take up all these torments to the heart because of his past. He did not know what he should be feeling towards her anymore with the confusions he had towards his own emotions now. The moment he had let go of his hatred towards his past love, his true feelings for her had been gushing out from his heart unstoppably, yet he was still filled with the fondness and pity he had for this young brunette.

"Arnold…if I begged you to stay, will you?" Isabella looked at him pleadingly, her tears still glimmering on the rim of her eyes.

Arnold pulled her into an embrace, his hand stroking her back as if he was comforting a weeping child.

"Don't worry, I'll be here."

**

* * *

A/N:** Sorry for the late update, but as I said (in my profile page, if anyone's read it XP) I've been stuck with a stupid coursework the last two weeks, but after that I've jumped straight into writing this chapter!!! Which is prolly why some bits of this chappie sounds weird (and pretty cheeeeeeeeeeesy so far…), cuz my brain's not quite tuned back from writing essays to writing fics yet…XD 

And ooh a dark Murrue, muahahahahaha!!! I've always wanted to try showing a darker side of Murrue, cuz I think it can be a bit boring if she's always too nice…Well, that's just me…Ooh yeah, die-hard Murrue fans, flame me.

Okay, so because of some miscalculations of my own, the rating will not go up until the next chapter, cuz I couldn't fit the (so-called) M material into this chapter (I wanna keep my chapters in a manageable length for now). Anyways, the next chapter might therefore be pretty short again, but it should be quite the shocker, cuz there's gonna be loads of violence!!! Joking. No, seriously, I'm just joking, and Azzy's not dying, don't even dream about it. XD


	9. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The more he thought about it, the angrier he became.

She had always been like that; believing that she could solve every single problem herself, never willing to let others share the burden with her, and sometimes even going as far as to hide the problem from others, pretending that it never existed. He thought he had once successfully convinced her that even if she did not want to share her troubles with anyone else, he was the one she could always confide in, no matter how big or small the difficulty she was facing. But apparently this was not the case; when he was the very center of her dilemma, he would also ironically be the very last person to even know that there was a problem.

To know of the deepest hidden secret of his past love from the lips of his present girlfriend, how cruel a joke could that be?

It was no longer just guilt, sorrow, and passion he was feeling for her now, but also fury. There was now so much frustration pent up in him because of the selfish decision she had made; a decision that was selfless, yet selfish all the same time. Had she ever thought of how devastated he would be to know that she had not wanted him to share her burden? Or how his already feeble heart would break again when he would know of her agony? Or how much guilt he would feel to know of the sacrifice she had made for him? Or even, how it simply felt for himself to_ be_ the sacrifice made. Probably not, he reminded himself with mental sarcasm, because she was not planning on letting him know of the truth anyway.

But now that he had known of the truth, there was nothing to stop him anymore.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It was almost midnight already, Natarle noted as she finished typing the last part of the document she was working on. Turning off the computer, she got up from her working desk and went back to her bedroom, preparing herself for a shower. And suddenly the doorbell rang.

She sighed. The last time Azrael decided to surprise her by dropping by at her apartment five minutes before midnight of her birthday - which although she had to admit it was a very sweet gesture of his - she had gave him a serious warning never to do so again. She simply did not like the idea of having guests in her home at such a late hour. But then how often did he really listen to her?

She placed her nightwear onto her bed and headed towards the door. Before opening the door, she took a quick glance through the small eyehole to make sure it was the person she was anticipating.

It was not.

Instead of her blond fiancée, standing outside her door was a man with hair of midnight blue and eyes of emerald green.

The one and only Arnold Neumann.

Surprised by his sudden visit, Natarle her hand hesitantly landed on the door knob as she contemplated whether or not to open the door for her uninvited guest. Part of her hoped that he was just an illusion that would go away the next time she looked through the eyehole, yet another part of her prayed that he would reach for the doorbell again, reminding her that his presence was real, so that she would have all the reasons in the world to open the door for him, to once again hear his voice, and be in his presence.

Wait. She had to take that little prayer back.

She had put so much effort into making him hate her with all his heart, so that he could move on with the life that was best for him, whether he was aware of it or not. She could not just ruin it all by welcoming him into her home.

The bell rang again. Good thing or not, her prayer was answered.

She took in a deep breath to settle her anxious heart. Within a split second she had recomposed herself, successfully hiding her true emotions behind a cold and uncaring veneer as she opened the door.

"Why are you here?" Her voice was cold as ice as she sent him an unwelcoming glare.

"I know what happened."

She was not only confused by his four simple, yet equivocal words, but she could not comprehend of what his tone of voice was suggesting either; it sounded like he was blaming her, pitying her, and begging her, all the same time. She felt an abrupt tug at her heartstrings; she had asked him a question composed of four words, which she said them with as much hostility as she could muster; and he replied her with another four, yet every single syllable he had made out was in contrast to hers filled with so much sentiment. She tried her best to imitate an annoyed frown, hoping that a displeased expression would be enough to hide from him the fact that her emotions were already overflowing in the inside.

"I know what happened two years ago."

Three more words that now completed the puzzle. But this was not how she wanted it to turn out. He was not supposed to know.

Then there it was. His intense, sincere, captivating emerald eyes looking straight at her, piercing right into the middle of her heart, and splitting that fragile little piece into two halves.

She could not pretend anymore; one more second standing here in front of him under his scrutinizing gaze will effortlessly break her façade, have her slitting her own chest open and gladly surrendering her heart over to him. She turned away from him in bitter frustration and walked right into the living room, leaving him at the front door by himself.

Arnold quickly shut the door and followed behind, then grabbing her hand and forcefully spinning her back around to face him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She yanked her hand out of his grasp and backed a step away from him. Though she was staring wordlessly at him, her tearful glare had said it all.

'_Such an insensitive, tenacious, stupid bastard you are, Arnold Neumann.'_

"Why didn't you tell me what was happening?!" He demanded hurtfully, unmoved by her fierce stare. "Why did you just leave me like that, so clueless to what was going on, while you tried to solve everything yourself?!!"

"Because if I told you what was happening, you would've never let me do what had to be done!!"

He grabbed both her arms with his this time, his angry emerald eyes glaring straight into her equally enraged amethyst orbs. "Of course I wouldn't have let you do such a stupid thing!!"

"And where do you think your father will be now?!!" Her eyes were now filled with unwavering certainty in the decision she had made in the past; how dare he, he should be grateful instead of blaming her. "And your company won't even-"

She could not finish; the rest of her words were caught in her throat when she was suddenly interrupted by him, or more precisely, by his impulsive kiss.

His forceful, demanding, passionate kiss.

Luscious.

Breath-taking.

Mesmerizing.

Dangerous.

Wrong.

Natarle snapped out of her indulgence and pushed the blue-haired man away with all her strength. She stared at him with wide eyes, unbelieving of what he had just done to her. And she was even more unbelieving of how long it took her to come to a realization of what he was doing.

It was almost like she gave him her full permission.

Or maybe she did without herself realizing it, because as unwilling as she wanted to seem to him, all these two years her whole heart and soul had been aching for him, longing to be in his arms again, to be surrounded by his warmth and pampered with his lovingness.

Which was why when he stepped forward again and wrapped his strong arms around her, this time much more tenderly, reaching down to her for another kiss, she was more than willing to return the affection.

The kiss deepened, neither one of them wanting to let go of the other, and Natarle had soon found herself backed against a wall. His kisses became more and more aggressive, less and less meaningful, and had moved greedily from her soft, sweet lips to her bare neck and along her collarbone. His hands started to wander around her slender body, his touch beginning with gentle caresses of her soft and sensitive skin, gradually turning into insatiable, demanding grips.

Natarle knew what he wanted.

And if she did not stop him now, she knew she would very soon be unable to hold back from her own desires as well. She attempted to push him away, and met with little success; not only was he too strong for her, but her refusal was much less than compelling, because his kisses and his touch were all too comforting for her to reject. She could not believe what she was letting happen now. Her determined, assertive, righteous self had become totally powerless in front of this man, and her control of her own body was bit by bit slipping out of her grasp under his touch.

In one last attempt to escape from this entrapment that would lead to an undeniably disastrous outcome, Natarle managed to mutter in between haste kisses muffled words of disapproval, "A-Arnold, stop it…I…_We_ can't do this…I'm engaged."

"Yeah…To the man who broke us apart in the first place." He retorted with an irritated groan as he softly bit onto her shoulder, causing her to let slip a small whimper.

The two started finding their way to the bedroom, occasionally crashing onto a wall or bumping into pieces of furniture, yet not once were they distracted from their heated passion for the other. The moment they found their destination and got inside, Arnold had Natarle trapped between the closed door and himself as he continued to shower her with ferocious kisses. Natarle then arduously untangled one hand from his possessive embrace and reached to the wall next to her, in search for the light switch. She had almost found the little toggle when he grabbed her wrist again, pinning it above her as he exchanged between gently nibbling onto her earlobe and leaving wet kisses on the sensitive spot behind her ear, his other hand busily unfastening her half undone shirt.

"Your girlfriend-" She protested weakly.

"I don't care," he cut in with a mumble as he undid the last button. He then pulled her away from the door and gave her a slight push, landing her onto her large, soft bed before climbing over on top of her. "The one I want is _you_."

And Natarle could no longer bring herself to refuse him.

**

* * *

A/N:** So…this chapter turned out to be _wayyy_ longer than I had planned…And see?! There's nothing really _that_ explicit here!! (Har har har har, and it's not violence either. Told you it was a joke!! You fell for it?! Muahahaha!!!) -_sigh_- I bet this fic is so 'innocent' that it can qualify as a children's bedtime story…Look!! Pink flying unicorns!!! La la la la la… 

Okay fine, I'm not deluded. I have to admit that this isn't your average GS romance/drama story. Turn around and leave when you still have the chance…If not, please review!!! Gimme reviews!!! Rawr!!!


	10. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

She was awake, that she knew. But she did not dare to open her eyes yet.

Because she could already feel his strong arms gently wrapped around her bare body, and him faintly breathing onto her forehead as he sleeps, yet she was still not prepared to open her eyes and confirm his presence.

She silently cursed herself for the reckless, impulsive decision she had made last night, and now having herself stuck in this difficult situation. One simple but grievously wrong step, two confused souls, three now complicatedly intertwined relationships, and yet another stain in her life of false perfection.

She was not going to lie to herself, pretending that she did not enjoy herself in the previous immensely pleasurable night; in fact if anything, those few hours before dawn had already perfectly fulfilled her relentless yearning for her estranged lover. But it did come with a price.

As she slowly opened her eyes, the endearing appearance of him still in his innocent slumber entered her vision. She realized that he had not actually changed much after these two years; he still had that baby face of his that became especially evident when he was asleep, and his eyelashes were long, just like how she remembered it as, because she had always been a bit jealous of him for that. And then at that moment she became aware of how she had not changed either; her heart would still melt hopelessly at the sight of him in his sleep, and she would lie still in her place, careful to not wake him up with the first-hand knowledge of him being a light sleeper. The reminiscence of these fond memories was the very reason that her heart was throbbing with pain now. With every single heartbeat came an excruciating pain of being reminded this way, of how perfectly her body fitted between his strong arms, and how content she could be by simply waking up in his embrace, yet both of them now belonged to their respective other half who was, regrettably, not each other.

Natarle reached one hand towards his face, delicately tracing from the ridge of his nose towards his alluring lips. Then she stopped when a sparkle on her hand caught her eye. She took a good look at the glimmering stone on her left ring finger, and acknowledged of what a cruel irony it was; she was in the comfort of another man's embrace with her engagement ring from her fiancée still adorned on her finger.

Her heart immediately rushed with an overwhelming sense of remorse at the reminder of her fiancée. Yes he might have been her worst enemy two years ago when he had cruelly torn her life apart in order to satisfy his own desire, but ever since then he had been the perfect gentleman to her. As arrogant and uncompromising as he may be to others, he would become this totally different person in front of her, always accommodating to every single one of her demands, and giving her his full attention like a young puppy around his master. He would never do anything to hurt her, and although he may never be able to completely win her heart, she had still grown to appreciate him and his love for her, an effort she had never made in all those years she had known him.

And yet she betrayed him.

The more she thought about what she had done, the more she hated it. Her comfort turned into an unforgiving rush of guilt, and then another wave, and another. Remorse surged in like an endless tide, churning her heart so vigorously that she felt disgusted of her very own being. She had never felt this sickened of herself before; she felt like her skin was wrapped by a layer of dirt, the flesh inside of her were replaced by the compost of her corrupted soul, and every single drop of blood circulating through her veins would carry the foul smell of her sinfulness; she felt like her very essence was made entirely of filth. As the repulsive feeling inside of her intensified at the most immense speed, so became her desperate need to purge herself, in both the physical and metaphorical sense, of her grave misdeed. She rolled around, climbing out of Arnold's embrace, and reached for her shirt that he hastily tossed beside the bed last night.

Her rushed movements harshly woke Arnold from his sleep. He groggily opened his eyes to see that she was no longer in his arms, but reaching away from him with her back facing him. Still lingering onto the residual of her warmth, he stretched out to her, snaking his arm around her slim waist when she suddenly stiffened and demanded in an austere tone, "Don't."

Her unanticipated coldness had him fully awakened instantly. "Natarle?"

"Let go." She demanded again.

Two simple words cast from her lips, and it felt like she had ruthlessly plunged a knife into his supposedly recovering heart. He had hoped that this was where they started their relationship together again, not ending it. He reluctantly let go of her and asked with apparent fear, "Why? I thought…" His voice trailed off shakily, and his words dissolving mid-air; he had lost all the courage to even let his thoughts be sounded.

Natarle's heart clenched at hearing his insecure voice. It was all too similar to that night two years ago; her, giving him a taste of happiness, then cruelly stripping all his hope away from him and abandoning him there on the spot so that she could find her way to another man's arms. She could find neither the strength nor the confidence to turn around and face him again, so she quickly slipped her shirt on to hide her naked body from his bemused gaze and got up from the bed, with her back at him all the time. "What happened last night was wrong. I'd rather we both forget about it."

It was more than clear in her monotonous voice that it was a decided statement, with no grounds for discussion. And at that moment Arnold immediately understood that as close as she may now be in his proximity, she was once again out of his reach.

"I need to go for a shower now. It'd be best if you're gone by the time I come back out." She resisted the intense urge to take a last look at him, and then left him on his own.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Sitting opposite her fiancée in the excessively sumptuous restaurant, with her plate of unfinished gourmet dish that had become unappetizing half way through still laying in front of her next to a glass of red wine she had hardly touched all evening, Natarle once again wondered why in the first place had she agreed to this dinner. It was not that she disliked going out with her would-be husband; they had known each other since their childhood, and she had grown accustomed to his companionship long ago. The difference between them two that Natarle had always found unsettling was instead – despite them both coming from similarly privileged backgrounds – that Natarle did not see the need to live such a lavish lifestyle. She was of course a woman with standards, and certain requirements and expectations had to be met when pertaining to her own lifestyle, but that definitely did not include spending an amount about the average monthly pay for ordinary people on what the spoilt blond called 'a decent dinner'.

She occasionally nodded once or twice at the man's words, pretending to offer her sympathy at moments where he sounded particularly expressive, even though she had hardly taken in half of what he was saying. It was not really his fault for her distractedness; the dinner itself was unappealing enough, and it really could not be helped for her mind to be on other things at this moment, as this was already the consecutive third of her free evenings she had given up to him. Not only her work schedule was demanding, but because of that it was even more difficult to divide her sparse personal time between him, her family, and her friends, which meant that in order to accommodate to his wish for her to spend time with him, she had to sacrifice her other potential commitments. But after that fateful night, she found herself easily agreeing to all of his requests without a single further thought, and her straightforward obedience even surprised him.

The truth was she was guilt-ridden, and simply trying to ease her own conscience.

Judging from the way her childhood friend was acting towards her, which was in no way different from how he had always been, Natarle came to the conclusion that he had hardly even noticed anything at all. But he being innocent about her unfaithfulness was one thing, her own guilty mind was another. In fact, his naivety was what made her even more regretful than she originally already was, which was the very reason of her recent comparatively submissive behavior. Yet as ashamed of herself she was, and as repugnant the feeling it would sometimes bring, she constantly found herself submerged into the memory of that night of licentious indulgence. She could sometimes even feel that _other_ man's touch still lingering onto both her body and soul as she loses herself in her recollections.

Her mind started wandering further and further away from her fiancée's words, all the way back to a certain blue-haired man. The thought of him was obviously not helping with relieving her guilty conscience, but the moment he entered her thoughts, she found it too difficult to stop remove his presence within.

After that particular morning, she had received, and subsequently rejected, a few calls from him. As hardhearted as it was to him, it was nonetheless distressing a task for her, and every time she saw his name appearing on the screen of her phone, she would struggle as she listened to her own mind and heart contradicting each other on what she should do. Now that she had discovered how easy it actually was for her to give in to temptation, this probably was the best way to end things. It was a horrible mistake they both made together, and neither of them could afford to make another. Knowing Arnold Neumann, it was almost for certain that he would not give up just like that, but that was something she would deal with later, when the misguided feelings they had for each other in that night have subsided thoroughly enough.

And suddenly she saw a hand waving closely in front of her. "Natarle, are you listening?"

"Huh?" She shifted her point of focus back onto the face of the blond opposite her. "Oh, sorry. I was just…thinking about something."

"You look tired. Should I bring you home now?" The offer sounded more of a resolution than of a question, Natarle noticed as Azrael was already standing up with their belongings in his hands and ready to go.

"The bill-" Natarle queried as she followed suit and stood up from her seat.

"It's all sorted. Did you think I would not have realized you being distracted and looking so weary all night long?"

Natarle gave him a thankful smile. She had to admit that he was quite charming sometimes, especially when he was so attentive towards her. She felt his hand landing gently onto her back as he guided her towards the exit. She was used to this gesture, and she usually saw it more like a habit of his, but tonight his touch gave a surprisingly comforting feeling, and she suspected that it was most probably due to her internal agony that now his caring towards her became no less than a luxury. Perhaps tonight, despite the tasteless meal, the dreary conversations, and her own tiredness, it was not that unbearable after all.

But it was when she stepped out of the restaurant that she realized how wrong she could be to even let that thought cross her mind, because the worse was yet to come.

* * *

**A/N:** I was distracted by Free Cell. Not cool.

_Anyhow_, anyone got the references I made to a certain chapter in my other fic 'Their Stories'? See if you can spot it. No prize for the winner though.

And so stopping there was a bit arbitrary. Not what I originally intended, but if I did carry on this chapter would probably be thrice the length it is now. Um, okay, maybe that was an exaggeration, but you get the message. Plus the fact that I didn't know how to carry on with the last bit, and I'm hoping it would be easier to start a new chapter picking up from there.

Okay, so these two chapters is a pretty new attempt for me…_please_ tell me how you're finding the story so far…is it turning you off or are you liking it? Or is it just too boring to even find an appropriate comment for it? If it is please say so, and I shall just strangle myself to death in shame.


	11. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Coming out of the restaurant, as if a natural instinct Natarle instantaneously caught sight of that very last person she wanted to see tonight. And for worse, he was obviously not by himself, as walking closely beside him, her hand in his, was the pretty young brunette she had already met before. Her heart skipped a few beats when his eyes made an abrupt connection with hers, and suddenly it felt like all the air around them had somehow become so heavy that even breathing became a difficult task.

Such an unpleasant, untimely, and unlikely coincidence. She wondered if this was divine retribution, or was it simply a distasteful joke on his part.

Her fiancée let out a short, irritated hiss as they both came to a halt, face to face to the other couple. She landed her eyes onto Isabella whose own blue orbs nervously darted to and fro between the three of them, as if she was ever so certain that something bad was bound to happen. Natarle was not sure how much the woman knew by now of the sour past between them three, but from the way she hid half of herself behind Arnold, visibly feeling out of place, and how her brows furrowed in a slightly accusing manner when glancing at Azrael, she guessed the brunette had at least grasped the basic idea.

Natarle felt Azrael's hand on her back move downwards, then slipping beneath her arm and landing on her abdomen. With a bit of force he then pushed her back flat against himself, enclosing her into a half-hearted embrace yet with no affection in his touch anymore. Even without words, the message was clear. Right this moment, she was not just his fiancée; she was a _possession_, a trophy for him to remind Arnold that whether it be in wealth, status, or the woman he wanted, he was the loser, and will always be. From the corner of her eye she could see the blond's frown of annoyance just mere seconds ago had now changed into a gloating smirk. He was obviously enjoying this.

She let out a small, controlled sigh. Despite Azrael's boastful nature, she had faith in both men to be civilized enough not to cause a scene outside one of the most exclusive restaurants in town, especially when all four of them knew perfectly well that with Azrael's name, if any one of them caused even the slightest bit of drama, they would all just end up in the papers. Besides, even if her fiancée was so tragically immature as to tempt the other man into a fight right here on the spot, she could count on Arnold to be his mature self and handle the situation with sophistication.

Yet when she caught the glare the blue haired man sent her way, she was not sure if she should be trusting him, or her instincts, anymore. She shuddered under his brief yet fierce glare; the gentleness that she could always find in those beautiful emerald orbs was lost, instead they were now gleaming with rage.

Arnold was not the type of person prone to outbursts; one could tell simply by the aura surrounding him if he was deeply infuriated, and although there were not many things Natarle was scared of, she had always found his silent wrath more frightening than a direct confrontation. What was worse was that now he seemed more enraged than she had ever remembered seeing him be in the past, and she had never been so intimidated by him before. Almost intuitively she leaned closer to Azrael, as if she needed his protection, at the same time a reminder for Arnold of his place; and of hers.

Arnold caught the hint, because the message was so disdainfully clear that she might as well scream it into his face. He felt his blood boil. After that night, there was not one day that went without him thinking about her, longing for her, and wishing that he could see her again, even if it was just in his dreams. And here she was now standing, looking at him as if nothing had ever happened, and acting as if all she needed was her oh-so-lovable fiancée.

So what was that night, which now had become one of his most cherished memories, supposed to mean to her: an apology for the way she ended things two years ago, or simply a one-night-stand, with no strings attached? How much cheaper, in her eyes, could his love become?

He settled his eyes onto her, hoping that she would give him an answer, yet she avoided his gaze as if nothing was more unbearable than even looking at him. He felt Isabella's grip onto his arm tighten with a slight pull every now and then, and her eagerness to avoid a confrontation was clear. But he was not ready to leave yet; he did not really have much of an idea what he wanted to get out of this situation, but with that arrogant smirk wide across the blond's face and his provocative attitude, walking away without a word would only translate to being a coward, and he was definitely not going to accept that. However things were going to turn out, he was ready for the challenge.

"Neumann, what a pleasant surprise." The enthusiasm in Azrael's voice was so evidently fake, just as his expression of mock delight was. His scrutinizing eyes landed shortly on Isabella, then quickly turning back to Arnold. "I see you've got yourself a new girlfriend. Why, you got dumped by your last?"

Arnold noticed the way Natarle flinched slightly, yet her effort made to avoid eye contact with him never wavered. Was it shame displayed in that frown of hers? Displeasure? Or was it purely because she did not want a part in this pointless squabble?

"Considering the way _she was taken_ from me, I would hardly call myself 'dumped'. 'Swindled' may be a better description." Arnold tried his best to keep his voice toneless, and deliberately chose not to properly address the woman in his rebuttal, because keeping it as an impersonal matter was the only way he could remain calm in this infuriating circumstance.

He would admit that he might have taken it a bit too far when he went to hers back then, allowing his anger, frustration, and lust overcome his usually composed self when all he was hoping for was to reclaim her love, but in their exchange of passion he could not be more certain that the attraction was mutual; the way she held him in her arms, with her soft yet deep kisses, and hearing his name slip through her lips in loving whispers, all that had to at least mean something. Yet it now appeared that she thought different, because despite given a second choice since the moment he appeared at her doorstep, she still chose so willingly to go back to her fiancée, not even allowing him a chance to explain himself regardless of all the times he tried to reach through to her.

And there was nothing that embittered him even more now, because Azrael may have 'swindled' him, but she had betrayed him all together.

Azrael tsked at his words, and rather than denying his accusation, a truth which he in fact took pride in, he shifted his attention to the seemingly shy brunette. "So you're his girlfriend, huh?"

Natarle immediately sensed where this conversation was heading, and she did not like it. She slightly elbowed the blond and sent him a quick glare of disapproval. Azrael might have all the reasons in the world to mock Arnold, and she would have no right to stop him, but harassing Arnold's girlfriend just to insult him further was simply disgraceful behavior, and she was not going to let him embarrass that poor girl here, no matter how much she secretly was envious of her now.

She could not tell whether it was Isabella hiding behind Arnold, or was it him being protective of her, but either way to her surprise she found herself equally dismayed. From the way they stood closely to each other, to how their hands were held tightly together, everything single gesture showed their dependence and trust of each other, just like the very first time she saw them together at the ball. And suddenly she came to a realization; she might have been the one he wanted, or so he said, but Isabella was the one he _needed_.

But then who was she to complain? Was she not the one who so deeply regretted her own infidelity?

"Such a pity," Azrael took no notice of her disapproval.

"Muruta." She hissed.

She saw Arnold's frown deepen, and she felt her own expression mirroring his. She should be glad for him to have found someone else, so that he need not linger onto impractical hopes of their reunion, should she not? Then why was there this angry and bitter feeling inside of her?

"…a pretty lady like you shouldn't be wasting you time on him."

"Stop it!"

The harsh tone in her voice alarmed Azrael, and he immediately stopped. He looked at Natarle with a slightly uncomprehending face, who in turn gave him the most complicated expression of anger he had ever seen on her delicate features, and at that moment he knew he had overdone it. He stared blankly as Natarle pushed him away, storming past the other couple without giving them a second look, and on realizing that she was not going to wait for him, he fretfully followed.

When he finally caught up with her, it took him the best of his persuasion skills to convince her into accepting his offer for a lift home instead of hailing a cab as she originally wanted. And when he turned around out of curiosity, the blue haired man and his girlfriend were nowhere to be seen anymore.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Even though he was allowed into her flat right now, he could tell that his fiancée was still _very_ angry at him. Not a word had she spoken to him ever since they left that confrontation outside the restaurant; not during the ride back here, not when he offered to walk her upstairs, not when he mindlessly followed her all the way into her home.

Yet Azrael did not find himself too worried, as he knew from experience that she would never be angry at him for too long. He had eighteen years of experience for dealing with this woman, and he was confident that no other person knew her more than he did. He knew exactly what should be said and done, and what not, in order to calm her rage; all he had to do was make sure he pushed the right buttons, and she would be jumping back into his arms in no time.

He followed Natarle around wherever she went, giving her the most sincerely apologetic smile he could muster whenever she turned around with her suspecting glare. When she finally settled in the kitchen to prepare some coffee, he knew it was the opportune moment to settle the matter. He pondered for a moment, deciding on how he should start; maybe sweet talking her out of her anger was the best way to go this time.

He took one step forward, "Sweetie-"

"Don't 'sweetie' me!" Natarle spun around with rage still flaming in her eyes.

Azrael winced; he could not understand why she would still be so angry. It has been an hour or so already, should she not have at least calmed down a bit? And to be honest, he did not even know what she was angry about in the first place. Was it that she had mistaken his words for that brunette for flirtation? But could she not tell that he was just mocking that girl because for whom she was with? Or was it not because of the girl, but of…_him_?

He grabbed her arm, unwilling to let go when she jerked back out of surprise. "Natarle, I'm sorry."

Natarle looked at him with suspicion. His gaze was genuine, as was the tone of his voice, and even his hold of her proved the earnestness of his apology. "You were being ridiculous back there. How could you have said such things?"

Azrael frantically apologized again, "I'm sorry! I swear to you I wasn't flirting with that brunette, I was just-"

Natarle let out a frustrated growl, this idiot did not even understand what she was angry about. If it was another quarrel like the ones they usually had, she would have easily forgiven him, because at most times he was simply being childish, and she could cope with that. But this was a totally different matter, and although the fault for her miserable mood now was not wholly his, she still needed him to understand where she was coming from. "It's not about that! Why did you have to be so rude to them? Why did you have to pick on him?"

_Him_. That one word made all the difference to Azrael. "Why do you care?! He's not your boyfriend anymore! _I'm_ your boyfriend…I'm your _fiancée_!"

"It's not just- It's not about him!" Natarle took a pause, because she had almost admitted to his accusation. She knew if she went any further, she will unleash the utmost of Azrael's jealousy, which was something extremely difficult to handle, because when he was jealous, he was also completely unreasonable. She took in a deep breath, trying to calm herself down as she considered how she should continue.

"What you did was so embarrassing. Did you realize at all that we were outside one of the most famous restaurants around? And do you even remember who you _are_?"

Azrael looked at her with wide eyes, then his lips curved into a sly smile. So it was not about _him_ after all. It was about _himself_. All she cared about was himself. "Ooh, so that's what you're angry about. Honey, I'm sorry. I promise it won't happen again."

Natarle eyed him suspiciously as she slightly leaned onto the kitchen counter with her arms crossed. "And it's not about him. No matter how much you don't like a person, it still doesn't give you the right to be rude."

Azrael gave a slightly questioning frown, but still nodded in compliance. But when Natarle's stern face softened, offering him coffee as a truce, his frown immediately brightened into a broad grin. He felt proud of himself, and although this time it took significantly more effort, he had once again won over her stubbornness. The truth was he did not care that much of the reasons she was angry, all he needed to know was how to play things her way and keep her pleased again afterwards. In fact, he actually enjoyed these little challenges, and he sometimes even irritated her deliberately just to see her reaction, because he simply loved the sense of victory that came to him every time she gave in to him.

Seeing her turn around and busy herself with preparing the coffee, he took the chance and slipped his arms around her slender waist. He felt her body shiver slightly as he embraced her, and his lips pulled into a content smile. The fragrance of her hair was mesmerizing, and he started enjoying himself by burying his face into the nape of her neck, greedily drawing in every single drop of her scent. He raised a hand up in front and stroked the soft skin along her shoulder, then tilted her head to one side as he planted a kiss on her neck. His other arm tightened around her waist as he waited for her reply.

"No."

She pulled out of his embrace as she turned to face him, a hand on his chest to keep the distance between them. "Muruta, I'm sorry. But I can't."

He should not be surprised by her answer; after all, every time he hinted for a more intimate act she would refuse, because she was not ready for it, despite them already being engaged. It was she who was the one so surprised by her own answer. She hardly even resisted the man she had not seen for two years when he came to her, yet she would refuse her fiancée when he asked for the same thing. A pang of guilt rushed throughout her body; she knew it was not fair to Azrael, but she could not bring herself to surrender out of this guilt, especially when her act of betrayal was still so vivid in her memory.

"I'm sorry," she repeated.

Azrael abruptly took a step back and threw his arms in the air in mock surrender. He was expecting it anyway. What surprised him though was that her apology this time was more than just words. She was the kind of person who seldom apologized, even when she did, it would usually come out sounding either reluctant or uncommitted, and a sincere apology from her was even rarer than her genuine smile. Yet now she stood in front of him, biting onto her lip with a troubled frown, as if waiting for him to acknowledge her apology. Her unusual sensitiveness on this topic tonight astonished him, to the point that it was almost satisfying to see her regret on disappointing himself.

All the better for him, because when she _was_ ready, he wanted her to be the one come running to him and asking, or even begging, for it.

He bent down a bit so as to level his face with hers, and gave her a reassuring smile. "I can wait." As she let out a small, relieved sigh, he abruptly straightened up again, and allowed Natarle carry on with preparing the coffee.

Yet when Natarle turned around with two mugs of coffee in her hands, she found the blond at the front door putting his shoes on, almost ready to leave. His sudden eagerness to leave worried her; he might have said he was alright with her decision, but then again he was not always truthful with his words. She quickly went up to him, "Where are you going?"

"Not in the mood for coffee," was his simple excuse along with a casual shrug. Natarle felt her heart sink; it was supposed to be a pleasant night out, and somehow everything just went wrong after the dinner itself. Even though she knew it was not entirely her fault, it still felt like it was. And she wanted to do something to compensate for his disappointment.

"Muruta," she slightly tugged his arm for his attention.

"Hmm?" Hand on the doorknob of the already opened door, he heedlessly responded to her call without even looking at her. But as he waited and waited, and still did not hear anything further coming from her, he raised his head up to look at her.

She finally got his full attention, but Natarle took her time. She stared into his eyes for a moment as if contemplating, then reached her hand up and gently palmed his pale face, reaching up to give him a gentle kiss on his lips. As they slowly parted, she whispered, "Goodnight."

And her fiancée returned her a gratified smile with a soft goodnight as he departed.

**

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A/N:** I'm so very sorry, I know I promised a quick update, well, one month ago, and it hasn't really happened, has it? Can't exactly tell you why, because it was a mixture of various reasons, well, including my own laziness, but that should be expected by those who know me well enough. But then this chapter was surprisingly difficult to write, so I'm not gonna take the whole blame. Muahaha. Anyway, work is catching up with me, so I might not be able to update as frequently as I used to. I also realize that my chapters are getting longer than they used to be, which obviously takes longer to write, so…yeah. Quality is more important that quantity, should it not be? So I'm forgiven?

Okay, that was one whole paragraph of excuses for a late update. **Anyway, something I'm pretty curious about. **(Yes that's in bold just to catch everyone's attention.) I've been having a look at the stats for this story, and I discovered something very interesting…Somehow the 6th page, i.e. Chapter 4 Part 2, has an outstandingly high hit count, and I'm thinking one of you out there has either accidentally set it as your homepage (very unlikely, but still possible), or is seriously addicted to that chapter (an equally ridiculous guess, because I've gone back to it but don't see anything particularly fascinating about it, but hey, still probable). Whoever it is, I'm asking, no, begging you to enlighten me, because you have no idea how much I'm dying to know what's happening there.

To Moi: Yeah, that's what I've been trying desperately to avoid, yet finding it quite challenging. My reasons for her indecisiveness is because I personally have always seen Natarle as a person who would excel in work but is totally incapable of handling her own feelings/love life, especially when met with the more complicated of problems, and therefore sometimes landing herself in an even worse situation (that's a hint for later chapters). Long story behind that, but I will be addressing this in further chapters, and hopefully that will help balance her character. But thanks for your comment, and please do give me the heads up if I am starting to make Natarle ridiculously OOC.


	12. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"I'm sorry your birthday dinner had to turn out like this." Sitting on the sofa, Arnold apologized as Isabella settled down next to him.

They normally would not have opted to go to that restaurant for just a simple dinner, but it was her birthday, and tonight was intended to be a treat for her. Yet thanks to a certain nuisance in the form of a tall blond in a blue suit, the two were not in much of a celebratory mood during dinner anymore. They left the place early, and came back to her home instead.

Isabella shook her head. "It's alright, it wasn't your fault anyway. And to tell you the truth, I'm glad enough that you're here to celebrate my birthday with me."

Those were her utmost genuine feelings. After she had spilt the truth to him, she had been waiting, as if it was destined to happen, for him to leave her and go back to his past love. Knowing the unfinished past between those two had left her feeling like she was the intruder of their relationship when the only fault she had made was coming into Arnold's life a bit too late. Yet like a dream come true, here he was now, still by her side. She did not know if he had seen that woman ever since, and she did not dare to ask such a sensitive question. But in the end he chose her over Natarle Badgiruel, and that was all she needed to know. She moved closer to him, slipping her hand into his arm as she leaned onto his shoulder. "As long as you're still here with me, then everything's alright."

Her words puzzled the oblivious Arnold. "Why? Did you think I was going somewhere?"

Isabella held onto him tighter, and let out a small, sarcastic sounding chuckle. "You really have no idea what's in a girl's mind, do you? I thought for certain you would have left me and went back to…_her_, after what I told you the other night. But you stayed."

Arnold reflexively jerked away a little as his heart sank into a sea of guilt. In all honesty, he had never given a thought about his own girlfriend after his visit to Natarle's, because ever since then both his mind and soul had been occupied entirely and solely by thoughts of the other woman. If Isabella had not hinted to him so explicitly, he would most probably have forgotten about her birthday.

Yet the guilt he was feeling now was not exactly what he was _expecting_ to feel. He was sorry for being such an inattentive boyfriend and failing to remember Isabella's birthday, and also for the sense of insecurity she had because of his relationship with another woman. But somehow, despite knowing very well what he did was wrong, and that if Isabella ever found out it would simply break her heart, he still did not feel the intense regret one should after admitting to such a fault. Even if given a second chance, he could not guarantee he would not have made the same choice.

And ironically, this was what made him all the guiltier.

He knew from the very start of this relationship, just like the other two before, that it would never be, and could never even compare to the relationship he once had and still truly wanted. He was not hoping it to be either, because as much as he loathed that woman for breaking his heart, he knew she was the irreplaceable one, the kind of miracle that only comes along once in a lifetime.

He had tried being angry at her, putting the blame on her, and even to forget her altogether in order to move on, but no matter who it was by his side, never had they made his heart jump the same way it did with just the mere thought of her. Even the echoes of her name in his mind were enough to render him sleepless in the long nights.

He had never loved before her, and he knew he would never able to love as much after her.

With Isabella, he had once thought that even though he was stripped of the ability to love wholeheartedly, he could still learn to at least give her the rest of his heart. She was a wonderful woman; pretty, intelligent, kind, and simply charming. There was nothing not to love about her, and sometimes she even made him doubt himself for what he saw in the other woman. But in the end he would find himself back where he originally was, looking back into the past as if he had never taken that step forward. He was offering his heart to Isabella, but when she reached out to claim it, he was not letting go.

It was unfair to her. This girl now by his side had fervently poured her heart and soul into this relationship, revolving around him as if he was the center of her universe, and he had accepted it even when knowing that he could never do the same for her. He felt happy with her, comfortable, and content; but there was just no passion within, no matter how hard he tried. And now with Natarle back into the picture, it only made everything all the more complicated.

"Isabella, I'm sorry," he apologized, for reasons more than one, even for those out of her comprehension; those that only he understood what for, so that he could put his own guilty mind at ease.

Isabella smiled. She then reached up and planted a small kiss on his cheek. "You're forgiven."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"Something's wrong."

"What?" Natarle looked up at the brunette sitting opposite her as she put down her cup of coffee.

"Something's wrong." The woman repeated, her marigold eyes looking at her younger friend with suspicion.

Natarle looked around the coffee shop, scanning for anyone or anything that looked out of place. She then turned back to Murrue with a questioning frown. "What's wrong?"

Resting her chin on the back of her hand with her arm as support, Murrue stared straight at Natarle. "You."

The raven haired woman sat up in alert, her widened eyes filled with surprise. "W-why would you say that?"

Murrue sighed at her friend's reaction. She had known her for too long not to understand her. To the average person, Natarle may be the most difficult woman to get along with; she always seemed so uptight, her face showing little emotion, and even her tone of voice was harsh. But if only they would take a closer look, then they would be able to see through that cold exterior and realize that inside, she was actually a very delicate woman, full of emotions that she was afraid to show yet hinted in those small gestures of hers. It takes time to close the gap in between, but once her trust is won, she would let her guard down and become much more relaxed, letting her feelings flow more freely to the point that even if she tried to hide anything from those who knew her so well, she would only fail so miserably.

But it was not just the troubled look Natarle had today that raised Murrue's suspicions. It was also because Murrue was already expecting something to have happened, after she had deliberately told Isabella something she knew she was not supposed to. The brunette casually changed the topic with her next question, "How are things with Azrael?"

Natarle looked away from Murrue's curious gaze anxiously, so fearful that her friend would find out what had happened.

"Fine," came her short reply. They were; it was things with Arnold Neumann that troubled her.

It had been exactly one week since that night they saw each other outside the restaurant, and she had spent most of this time thinking about him, along with that young woman he was with. It was after that occasion that she realized that in the past two years she had been too focused on trying to forget him, so much that she had never given a thought on him being in a relationship with another woman. Even when seeing them together at the ball it did not occur to her that he _was_ in fact moving on, and without her. But what she did not register at the ball, and with that night they spent together fueling her unwillingness to accept the reality, everything finally hit her altogether in the past week. He had someone new, and she was not the most important person in his life anymore. She thought that she would be happy for him to have moved onto a new relationship after having hurt him so deeply, but when he finally did, she realized that this was not what she genuinely wanted after all.

She wondered, now with another woman beside him, if he would still think about her every now and then, if he missed her at all. What would he have said if she had not shunned him so quickly that morning? Would he have asked to get back together, or was he just trying to say a proper goodbye? She gave herself up to him the night before, but now as she thought about it, she did not even know why he came to her, and why he wanted her. She could not even tell anymore whether his words of affection were true, or was it just words casually thrown in in the spur of the moment, in the heated passion, and in the desperation to reclaim what he lost through her childhood friend's trickery. Having been deceived for two years, had he come to hate her so much already? She wanted answers, but she knew she most probably was never going to get any.

"Natarle." Murrue pressed for further explanation to her answer.

"Nothing's wrong." She lied. _Everything's wrong._

Murrue squinted her eyes in skepticism when she heard the reply, and was now more convinced than ever that something had _already_ happened. The way she avoided eye contact had already betrayed her own words. "You're lying."

Murrue's simple words almost crushed Natarle; even without saying a word her friend was already reading her like a book. She wanted to retort, but her own conscience was forbidding her to, because as much as she wanted to deny it, Murrue's suspicions were correct. She looked for a strategic reply. "How can you tell?"

Murrue gave her a gentle smile, as if to ease her anxiousness. "It's written all over your face."

Natarle stayed silent, giving no reaction to her words except for the apologetic, and slightly defeated frown.

"Are you really not going to tell me?"

"I…I can't."

Murrue let out a long sigh. At this point she knew she had to stop, because pushing her friend any further would benefit neither of them. As much as she was worried about Natarle, this woman was one of the most stubborn people she had ever been acquainted with, and forcing her to comply would be the worst of tactics to use. Angering her was the last thing she wanted happening today, yet she still wanted to be there and support her when she needed the help.

"Alright, I understand if there are things you don't want to talk about. But if you ever want someone to share things with, I'm always here." She softly poked Natarle in the forehead with a warm and ensuring smile. "And remember not to think too hard and complicate things with that stubborn mind of yours."

Rubbing her forehead slightly, Natarle made a small pout. Yet when seeing Murrue's contagious smile, she could not help but smile back at her. "Thank you, Murrue."

**

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**A/N: **Ugh, the way I cut my chapters up is so weird that makes me so annoyed with myself. And I have to confess, I wasn't using much of my brain when writing this chapter. I was just, well, writing. So feel free to point out anything that seems weird.

Anyhoo, I cannot believe that I've finished another chapter when there are a gazillion other things waiting for me to do. Ha ha, my priorities are so messed up. I wanted to finish the chapter earlier this week, but it was my birthday and there was a bit too much celebration going on that I couldn't find time for it. And my word of advice, over-celebrating one's birthday really takes the joy out of it, because believe it or not, I actually got so fed up with all those pre-birthday parties that I refused to celebrate on my actual birthday.


	13. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

It had been an exhausting day at work, and Natarle was more than glad that it was over. All she wanted to do, now that she finally arrived at the door to her own flat, was to get inside, take a long, relaxing bath, and head straight to bed. Much thanks to the case she had been working on non-stop for the past month and a half, which she had officially closed only this afternoon, sleep had become such a luxury to her that her want for it had by far surpassed the basic human need for a proper meal after days of eating junk just for the sake of keeping her alive and going.

She closed the door behind her, habitually dropping her keys next to the phone on its usual spot, her hand then swiftly moving over to the phone and pressed one of its buttons, replaying the messages recorded in her answering machine during the past few hours. The first was a short one from her parents asking when she would be free to go home for dinner, then a considerably lengthy one from Azrael, calling from overseas saying he would be back from his business trip in a few days, complaining how boring his trip has been so far, how much he missed her, and so on. Natarle allowed the message to play on as she dropped off her jacket, sorted out her mail, then got herself a glass of water before turning the news on, as per her usual routine. She left the television on, keeping an ear open to both the news and occasionally Azrael's message as she got changed and readied herself for her bath; that was, until she heard the next message recording that completely stopped in her tracks.

"_Natarle, it's me."_

Her body tensed up as if a natural response to hearing the unmistakable voice.

She silently cursed as her mind ran through all the possible reasons for his message. Why does he always do that, catching her by surprise at the most inopportune moments? Her feet felt like they were glued to the ground, and her ears could hear nothing else other than the faint echoes of his voice calling her name. She could no longer register the noise coming from the television, nor the sound of the running water in the bathroom, and all was silent for the moment except for his heavy, desperate sigh, as if he was uncertain in how to put his words; his brief pause seemed like forever, and her anxiety intensified with every passing second of waiting for his words.

"_I'm sorry for what happened the other night outside the restaurant. I didn't mean for it to happen, but I just…I just couldn't help it. I know it was awkward, and I'm sorry if I had upset you."_

She noted the way he spoke, slightly stuttering, with a small touch of regret in his hesitation. It reminded her of how she had always known him to be — kind and thoughtful, a man with such a gentle soul which she was unable to find within the Arnold Neumann she met again after these two years. Her heart clenched at the bitter sweet sensation his tentative yet genuine apology gave; if only he knew that she had never been angry at him for a fault that was not his in the first place.

"_I don't know how else I should say this, but…I need to see you, to talk to you. I don't want to just leave us two like what we are now. I know this is a very sudden invitation, but please, tomorrow night, seven o'clock at Café Rouge. Just the two of us. I'll be waiting for you."_

It was indeed very sudden, and Natarle could not believe her own ears. She walked over to the telephone and pressed the replay button, attentively listening to the message again, then again, and again for the last time. She could not figure out if she was listening for his invitation, for his apology, or simply for his voice. She just listened.

The more she listened, the more upset she became, irritated by the fact that he had allowed her so little time to make a decision. Yet given the liberty of choice, deep inside her heart she knew that there was only one option available to her, because the closure he was still looking for she had yet to give him, with her all the while needing the very same from him.

And as tired as she was now, she knew that she would hardly be getting any sleep tonight.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Arnold found himself surprising calm as he waited. He knew there was a possibility that she would not turn up, but somehow he was very convinced that he would be seeing her tonight. Maybe it was the fact that the venue he subconsciously chose had a very special meaning to their relationship, now as he looked back in hind-sight. Or maybe, it was because if she came tonight as he requested, she would never again be obligated to see him.

It pained him to even just consider of the possibility that tonight may be the last to ever see her again, but it was the only choice he had left. He knew if he continued to wait for her to make a first move, he would be waiting forever, but if he tried again to force his way past the boundaries she set with her apathy it would do no good either, because all he would achieve in the end was to find himself shut out of her life completely. He hated how despite everything he did and all the efforts he put in, she was still the one who ultimately held all the power. But tonight would be different; he was not going to let her go until he got what he came for.

"I'm sorry I'm late."

He looked up, and there she was. Dressed in a simple yet elegant burgundy dress, she looked so effortlessly beautiful, and he could not think of anything else that was more appropriate for this awkward evening. He even wondered if she chose this dress on purpose; he had always loved her wearing red, and she knew this very well. He looked away and settled his stare onto his watch, and anything else that could take his eyes off her. He did not need this now.

"You're not late. I'm just here too early."

She took her seat quietly. For the next few minutes, neither of them said a word, except for the brief exchange of words when ordering their dinner. It was a difficult situation; both of them knew what they were here for, but neither of them knew how to make a start.

After a rather long and discomforting period of silence, Arnold finally managed to pull out a few words. "Thank you for coming."

She responded with a quiet nod, "I believe I owe you a proper apology…for Muruta's behavior last time, and the way we took off. I'm sorry about what happened last time."

Arnold was slightly taken aback by her apology, as he was certainly not expecting it; it was not even necessary on her part. But something about it felt wrong, and he realized the sudden formality her measured words brought between them. Her voice was callous, her lips unsmiling, and she sat still — too still, as if she was limiting her actions to a bare minimum, wasting no more effort than what was needed for their communications. It was like she had drawn a circle around herself, not allowing any trespassing from both within or the outside. Although unanticipated, he understood; she had always been one to learn from mistakes, and made sure that she would never make a same one twice. The situation now was his own doing, and he had no one but himself to blame. But he wanted this night to at least be a comfortable meeting between them two, not as if they were waging war against each other, or worse, like two strangers sharing a table.

He offered a rather friendly smile, hoping to lower her guard, "So we're even?"

He observed at how she took a slight pause, her frown curious as she deduced whether he was still trustworthy. Her knitted brows then slowly relaxed as her soft rose lips curved into a polite smile. "Yes, we're even."

It had been long since he last saw a smile on her lips, albeit only a small, restrained one, and he knew that it meant nothing at all with her walls of defense raised high. But just one smile, and all the efforts made to suppress his want for her were put to the test again. He was helpless against her. Even when she was cold as ice, she was captivating; like a white rose — drained of all coloring except for the pale, lifeless white, yet still as beautiful as ever. He looked away from her, and stared pointlessly at her glass of wine that sat near the edge of the table.

"How are things?" Natarle continued, hoping to start a proper conversation before they were caught in an awkward silence again.

He gave a neutral smile, not knowing where to start. "They're alright."

Natarle nodded, but was secretly disappointed with the perfunctory answer. She had always kept an ear open to whatever that was going on even if it was only remotely related to him, and she knew he had been doing well; after all, her faith in his capabilities had never wavered despite their separation. But she still wanted him to personally confirm it to her, so that she could be sure there was at least some good coming out of the decision she made back then. She asked again, this time in a firmer tone, decided on getting a more detailed answer, "How's your company doing?"

"It's grown a lot these two years," Arnold replied with satisfaction in his voice. "It may not be at the very top of the industry yet, but I think it's still safe to say we are one of the best. What's more important is that we can be in control of what's happening, unlike before when we could so easily be overpowered and taken advantage of."

His regret in his past powerlessness was obvious. He recalled those difficult days he had put behind him, when he had almost lost everything that was important to him, and how hard he worked to salvage whatever that was left. Yet after knowing the truth only recently, he questioned how he could have not known that the help he had gotten along the way was not a gift from heaven. He spent the last two weeks sifting through the details, and he realized that although she was not with him personally, she had been working in the background to support him all along, because all those who were willing to help him out during those times were all related to her in one way or another. After all, even though her career path was too different from his, her family's business was not, and she had much closer ties to the most prominent of the industry than he did. He was just too blinded to see through it all back then. She had traded herself for his success, and although it was not intended for in the first place, he had to admit it was a lesson well learnt.

He took a quick glance at Natarle, who returned a simple nod of approval before asking with slightly more concern in her voice, "How's your father…and your family?"

"They're all doing well. Dad's health has improved a lot, now without the stress of running the company," he reassured her, appreciative of her genuine care for his family despite how much the relationship between them two changed. It was a real pity, because his family was so fond of her, as she was of them. To say they were shocked when hearing the news of their breakup, as opposed to the engagement they have been hoping, was an understatement. "He's always asking…when I'm getting married, since he's got nothing else to aim his attention at."

Arnold let out a chuckle that sounded more uneasy than amused. He had no idea why he said that, but somehow he felt like there was an obligation to let her know of his family's disappointment in their breakup.

Natarle lowered her head, cutting off her eye contact with Arnold. His immediate thought was that he had angered her yet again with his untactful remark, but the regretful tone in her voice had suggested the contrary when she commented so softly that he almost missed it, "Isabella's a really nice girl."

Arnold wondered if this was the cue for starting on the subject that was intended for the night. He had not expected it to come so soon, nor did he want to deal with it so early in the night, but he knew it was a problem that had to be solved, because it was himself who asked for it. If she was willing to take the first step, he had no excuse to refuse.

He nodded, "She really is a wonderful person. Kind, cheerful, considerate…It's difficult to not like her." Yet as much as he sounded like he was praising the young woman, his tone was not agreeing to his words at all.

Natarle stiffened, her head lowering just a fraction more. She started to regret bringing that woman's name up. She knew that Arnold's description of her was entirely valid, because she had already met her in person, but hearing such compliments coming from him only made her wanting to dismiss these facts more. She did not want to admit it, but it was becoming more obvious to herself than ever that she was indeed jealous of the other woman.

'_She's done nothing wrong,'_ she kept repeating to herself, hoping it would suppress the rapidly growing resentment towards the woman who was not even present. But if he was to say another kind word about her, she feared that she would not be able to hold back her bitterness anymore, or even losing the remaining strand of willpower to take this last step away from her deepest love forever.

"I heard she works with Murrue," she diverted the conversation towards another direction. "Have you seen those two lately?"

She did not know if the words came out as casual sounding as she wanted them to be. It does not matter now, as long as they were not to revisit this topic again tonight.

Arnold was surprised by the abrupt change of the discussion; one second ago they were about to touch on a serious matter, and then suddenly it turned back to insignificant small talk, this time about their two friends. It was so discouraging. He was not sure what her thoughts were on this issue, but for him it was so much more than just a trivial matter; every word he said, every step he took, made him feel like he was treading on a minefield, yet when he had himself fully prepared to face the problem she instead walked away so arbitrarily. He was not even sure if he could bring himself back into this territory again.

"Uh, no," he shook his head gently. "Not recently."

He followed her lead, as they both drifted further and further away from what was intended for the night.

And like this, their dinner continued as if a merry-go-round, like they were dancing in circles, each following the pace of the other, neither willing to take the first step back into that specific boundary. Even when one could almost brush the brim of it, the other would take a polite step back, and they would once again head off towards another direction, pretending that the core issue did not exist.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The dinner ended much later than expected; their subconsciousness refused to let them leave each other's company that time had passed quickly without them realizing it, and when they decided to leave, it was already half an hour before midnight.

And in the end, their half-hearted attempts to reach an understanding of the unsettled business between them were rendered futile.

As the two exited the restaurant, Arnold reticently peered at the woman walking next to him. He knew that, if he was to keep up decorum, this would be where they said their farewells. Yet if this was how the night was going to end, it would be a great disappointment on his part, because he still needed an answer from her, for a question that he had yet to ask.

"Thank you for coming. It means a lot to me," he stopped in his place, a few steps behind her as she turned around to face him. He had no idea how to bring up the matter now, and what words to use, because there was simply no way of doing this without making it more awkward than it already was. He kept his hands in his pockets, trying his best to imitate his usual relaxed demeanor when his heart was beating furious with anxiousness.

Natarle smiled somewhat reservedly, her amethyst eyes unable to settle into a steady gaze at him. "I'm the one who have to thank you. It had been a very enjoyable evening."

He knew her well enough to understand what this look of hers meant. As cold as she had been throughout the night, with her unsympathetic tone of voice and the aloof gestures in her movements, her eyes told a completely different story — one that betrayed all the efforts she made throughout the night.

She was lingering.

He could not even guess if this revelation was going to put him in the advantage, or the contrary, but either way he was not going to give up on his mission yet. He paused for a while, trying to figure out a plausible way of bringing up the matter, then when he remembered the were still standing in the middle of the road at such a late hour, he deemed it inappropriate to solve the problem here and now. All the better, as it gave him a reason to buy more time with her. "I'll drive you home," he offered with a mask of innocence.

She looked alarmed, a perfect resemblance of what people call a deer caught in the headlights, and her honest reaction made him secretly delighted, knowing this was the first time tonight that he had successfully caught her off guard, and in return glimpsing a side of her that was not the same cold and cynical her he spent the whole evening with. It made him curious; had she not even considered he might make such an offer? Or was it in her point of view that this was the most unreasonable thing he could ever ask?

She shook her head and took a step back, her voice slightly stuttering in uncertainty. "I can go home myself."

"You don't drive," he reasoned, "And it's going to be a bit difficult to get a taxi now." He tried not to sound too eager, afraid that it would deter her and in turn foil his own plans.

She hesitated. "I'll be fine."

"Your place is only a five minute drive away from mine."

She hesitated even more, falling into silence as she sifted through other solutions available to her at this time of the day, yet none of the possibilities sounded as appealing as his.

"It's just a quick drive home," he added, making it more difficult for her to refuse than to accept the offer.

She softly bit onto her lip as she finally set her gaze at him.

"Please."

And she nodded slowly in acceptance.

* * *

**A/N:** Okie, so it's been a year since my last update on this story… I'm sorry!!! I know some of you REALLY want to kill me, especially a certain someone who's given me quite a few 'hints' recently. You know who you are… XD

So, I was originally planning to update a bit later, as this chapter and the next were initially written as one very long chapter but now broken down into two, and I was wanting to make sure that both chapters make sense when put together before posting. Plus I've been really busy recently as I'm going on holiday in two days time, and I'm also moving out of my current residence before I leave for my trip, so all that adds up to A LOT of packing and cleaning. But then as my holiday trip lasts for two whole weeks, I thought I'd be too cruel to keep this certain someone waiting for so long, which is why I've decided to update now. Therefore, when I start writing the next chapter and figure something wrong with this chapter, I might come back and change bits of it. I'll make sure I'll inform everyone if I've made any major changes.

I MIGHT be able to get internet access sometime during these two weeks, but nothing's guaranteed, so I most probably will be a bit late with review replies. But I promise that I will reply reviews once I get the chance, because I really do appreciate them!! And thanks very much for you guys who are still reading my stories!!


	14. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Looking out the window from her passenger seat, Natarle found herself slowly immersing into thoughts of how familiar this scenario was. This seat she was now sitting in, she had sat many times before, but with an identity completely different from the one she assumed now — one that entitled her to the privilege of taking this seat whenever she wanted; one that did not require the invitation she was just given. In other words, the seat was not really hers to claim anymore.

It was supposed to be just an innocent drive back home, and she wondered how her mind had again drifted so far away, to a place where it would only bring back regret and disappointment. But sitting there in the seat she felt so comfortable in, passing by familiar looking streets and buildings as they drove along their accustomed route back to her home, she was again reminded of the cruel fact that all this happening now had once rightfully belonged to her.

'_Once,'_ she reminded herself. _'But not anymore.'_

She knows the moment they arrive at the destination, she will step out of his car, and never look back. She tries to remind herself that she cannot afford to be gentle with him anymore, that she does not want to give him hope, because it would only do more damage than good. But some things are easier said than done.

She mentally scolded herself for allowing herself into his car when she should have walked away at the first chance she was given. It was too big of a risk to take, because despite the shortness of this journey, even the slightest misjudgment on her part could easily reduce all the efforts she had made so far to nothingness. She should have known better than to trust him; the assuring smile he gave when he asked to bring her home was like an unspoken guarantee from him that everything would be alright, except she knew too clearly that 'alright' was the last thing it would be, because when it came to Arnold Neumann, things were never as simple as they seemed. She hated how after two years, she still allowed him to have much control over herself; how she would so naturally lower her defenses against him, a habit that was too deep-rooted into her own being; and how, when it came to him, all logic would simply cease to exist. Even when in front of her now was the most undisguised trap that he ever laid in front of her, she had still so willingly walked right into it.

"Natarle," his low voice breaks the silence.

She pretended not to hear his call, keeping her focus outside the window. She hopes, and she knows she may be a bit too optimistic, but if she could refrain herself from getting tangled up in some disconcerting conversation with him that would most likely end up as a quarrel, then maybe she would be able to get out of this arduous situation with her dignity intact.

But something told her that she would not be able to brush him off that easily.

"Natarle," he calls her name again, and the insistence in his words sends shivers down her spine.

She bit her lips as she realized that if ignoring him did not make him shut up, then she did not really have another workable tactic against him, and she would soon be doomed for another night of disaster.

"Yes?" she mumbles softly in the hope that he could catch the reluctance in her tone.

It seemed like he did, by the moment of silence he allowed. Then cautiously, as if he waiting for a ticking bomb to explode, he asks, "Will I get to see you again?"

She does not answer him. She knows the answer, because this was the question she was waiting for the whole night, and how to answer it she had already been practicing many times inside her head.

No. Never. Definitely not. A million times no.

But her mouth just would not open up and say the words.

"Natarle?" he asks for her again.

"I don't know," the words slip out, the answer far from what she originally had in mind. She knew exactly the reason why, which only frustrated her more; every time she hears him call her name in his deep, soothing voice, she would feel her determination drift a bit further from her reach.

"I don't understand."

"_Neither do I,"_ she wants to answer him. It was a yes or no question, but somehow she manages a third answer — one that would only bring more confusion, and in more than one way.

"It doesn't matter," she answers as he pulled the car up in front of her building. She turns to face him, but avoids letting her eyes meet his, because she was afraid that if she let herself dwell in the comfort of his presence for too long, it would be too difficult to break away when her time is up.

She hesitated, at a complete loss of words to continue with. He waited patiently, but his patience only unsettled her more, because she did not want to repay his kindness with cruel words. And in the end, the only way out that she could find was to give him an answer that did not really answer any questions.

"All I want you to know is that, if you still hate me for all the things that happened, I would understand, and I would accept it without complaint. It's just that… I never intended for it all to turn out like this."

He responds her with absolute quietness, and she knew she had to leave this place before it became more than unbearable. She opened the door and stepped out, leaving behind only a soft goodbye.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It was over.

The unavoidable that she had been dreading for the past two weeks had come and passed, and she had survived it. She should be proud of herself, given that the outcome was much more pleasant than what she had prepared herself for. But instead the sense of relief and security she was expecting from her triumph, unanticipated disappointment came seeping in as she realized that she was not as courageous as she had always believed herself to be.

The elevator seemed to take forever, and in her few minutes of idleness, all she could think of was she how had cowardly escaped from giving him the solid answer he had been looking for throughout the night; the best she could do was muster up this lousy explanation that hardly got them anywhere further from where they originally where, and she was fairly sure that he did not really appreciate her effort — or lack of, if she saw things his way. But then, what is done is done, and as for the rest, she should probably just let fate take its course.

She hears a small _ding_ sound acknowledging her the arrival of the elevator, and she stepped inside, with the resolution to leave all her troubles behind this door as it closes, and continue with the life she was supposed to live.

But a sudden _bang_ startles her, and as she looked up she saw a hand slowly pushing apart the closing elevator doors, showing the blue-haired man behind the doors who quickly forced his way into the compartment.

And she could not help but feel overwhelmed by how quickly fate could catch up with her.

Stunned and confused, she demanded, "What are you doing here?"

He ignores her as he reached for the button to close the elevator doors, and then he backed himself into the corner opposite her with his two arms folded together casually, all the while staring at her with skepticism and in absolute silence.

"What are you doing?!" she questions frantically. The doors were firmly shut, and the elevator was moving up already — she had nowhere to escape, like a weak, defenseless hare trapped in a wolf's den.

"You never answered my question," he states matter-of-factly.

"I-," she paused abruptly with obviousness that she did not have a feasible reply for him, concrete proof to Arnold that his statement had hit hard at precisely where she wanted to avoid most.

She tries to continue, "I don't-"

"'_I don't know' _is not a proper answer." He did not even let her finish, because he had already guessed she would be using the same excuse again; she was not exactly the best player in the field when it came to quarrels like these, and he had decided that he was not going to play fair tonight either.

She looked at him helplessly, as if asking him back what kind of answer he wanted to hear from her, but all he did was keep his back on the wall and return her an expressionless stare, offering her no assistance whatsoever.

It was his way of getting back at her. The peace they managed to keep between them, she had been taking it for granted for too long, and she must have completely forgotten that even he had only so much patience.

So if she was so eager to test these limits out by keep on refusing him what he wanted, she had better have a plan in mind how to take care of the aftermath.

The elevator came to a halt, and doors opened quietly for them. Natarle made no indication to move even the slightest bit, and Arnold figured that she was not planning on leaving the compartment until they had found a resolution to their common problem — which essentially meant that they were going to be stuck here for the better part of the night. _'Damn that woman and her ridiculous sense of cautiousness.' _

Hestraightened himself away from the wall and grabbed her arm, pulling her out of the elevator and then down the short corridor along with him, and stood her in front of the door to her own flat. "Natarle," he warned, "I'm not going to leave until I get an answer from you."

The words had a clear effect on her; she tensed up, looking at him with obvious reluctance in her eyes, like a child who had just been told of the punishment she was about to receive. He almost felt sorry for her. _Almost_. If it was any other time, he would have easily gave in, and did everything that he could to put a smile back onto her face. But this time he could not allow himself to be manipulated by her emotions anymore, because this time, he had a war to win.

"Is it such a difficult question to answer?" he asked. But she gave no reply.

If it was not for the same helplessness from a while ago that she now had on her face, he would have assumed it was her stubbornness that made her mute. He let out a sigh, and attempted to relax his annoyed features.

"Let me put it this way: What kind of relationship is it between us now?"

She intuitively backed herself against the wall, one hand holding onto her other arm protectively, and turned away from him. It was her typical defensive position.

He moved in closer, and placed his hands onto the door with one hand on either side of her, having her trapped between the door and himself, so that there was in no way she could hide from the reality, or him, anymore. He slowly leaned in, whispering softly into her ear, in a tone that sounded like a mixture of accusation and pleading, "How did we end up like this? What are we now?"

His warm breath was tickling her ear, and she let out a small whimper as she shut her eyes tightly, wishing that if only she could also shut out his engrossing voice.

What was his point in asking questions that she could not answer?

"Friends?" He suggested a term that was probably too non-descriptive.

"Ex-lovers?" He asked again when she does not answer, this time with less patience and more desperation.

She holds herself together more tightly, and even with her back already on the wall she pressed herself back further, trying to widen the distance between them for just a tiny bit more.

"Or are we strangers from now on?" The anger in his voice was becoming more and more evident, slowly eating away the little calmness and patience that still remained in him.

"No!" She swung herself around to face him with unbelieving eyes, and her hand grabbing onto the sleeve of his jacket, a habitual gesture of hers that hinted of her rare neediness. The sudden closeness between them made his heart race, every single beat of it urging him satisfy his desperation by feeding on her momentary weakness. He wanted to beg her to stop tempting him like this, because she was simply oblivious to how even the most innocent glance from her, or the lightest brush of her fingertips, was able to send his self-control into a freefall.

Her tug onto his sleeve became a frantic pull, "I'm not trying to deny anything! I'm just- I…"

"Then what do you want us to be?!" He jerked away from her grasp, returning her a firm — even violent — grip onto her hand. "What did that night mean to you? So was it just a one-off thing, like we're partners-in-crime who just used each other to get what we each wanted?"

"How could you say that?!" she yelled as she tried yanking her hand away. Arnold could see her already pale hand becoming even more pallid under his harsh grip, but he was not going to admit defeat by letting her go; the more she resists, the stronger was his hold going to be.

Her annoyance at his persistence quickly turned into anger, and she stopped struggling, instead opting for a wrathful glare as display of her changed mood. Seeing this Arnold could no longer hold back his own anger anymore. He had tried everything, yet she so easily rejected every one of his efforts, so what gave her the right to be angry first?

"Then what do you want me to say?!"

She bit onto her lip, her glare undistracted, as a silent protest against him.

He had always known, from all the years spent with her, that when two people as stubborn as they were clashed, they clashed hard. Although it was a rare happening, it was definitely not the first.

But he had had enough. "Or is this how you want it?" He lets his grasp loosen just a tiny bit as he leaned closer, whispering into her ear in desperation, "You want us to stay like this forever, so every time I want you I can just come over here and have you for the night, just like how I did last time, since you-"

The last few words never came out, stopped by her cruel slap across his face.

He knew this was coming; the moment he decided on throwing an insult at her he knew there was a price to pay. It was low, yes, but as soon as the thought came to his mind he simply could not hold back from voicing it out. He wanted her to feel the pain he felt, he wanted it to hurt her as deep as she hurt him before. Yet the outcome was hardly what he had anticipated; they say revenge is sweet, but her reaction only left him more hurt than he already was.

He blankly let go of her hand, and Natarle stood still in her place, glaring at him with so much rage burning inside of her that she could even feel the ache. Anyone chastising her for that night, she could accept it; anyone but him. He said it himself: they were partners-in-crime, so if what they did that night was so wrong, he was just as guilty as she was.

Then why does he have to be so unforgiving with his words?

She wondered how they managed to bring themselves into this position again. Every time they met, the day would end in the worst way possible. It was almost as if destiny decided that they were to remain enemies forever, despite their efforts to keep peace.

As she calmed down from her initial outburst, she began to regret being too harsh on Arnold. As much as his words upset her, she should not have let her emotions get the better of her, especially when considering the delicacy of the situation. She took in a deep breath, preparing herself to apologize for her inappropriateness, and then turned her full attention towards him. And it was at that moment that she realized the real damage she had done.

A red line had formed across his right cheek where she slapped him, and Natarle gave a quiet gasp as she instinctively glanced at the ring she was wearing on her left hand; as harmless as it seemed it was not the first time that this little silver band had caused trouble for her, and she could not help but imagine that it was hinting at something.

"I'm sorry…I didn't mean to hurt you…" she apologized with an almost inaudible voice, and it was clear that her remorse was genuine. She reached a tentative hand out towards him, but he stubbornly dodged away, not even bothering to look at her.

And it hurt.

It hurt so bad, to know that she had done him harm, yet he refuses to accept her apology. It made her feel like she was lying to him all along, and all her asking for forgiveness was just a show she had put on; like she had never truly been sorry, and he had seen through it.

"Arnold…" She reached out again, for a second chance, but he quickly took a step back as he placed his hand between them, "Don't. Don't bother."

He turned to leave, and she panicked. If he left now, if she _allowed_ herself to let him leave now, this would really be the very end of however little that remained between them. She had been given not just one, but two chances already to give their relationship a proper conclusion, and she was very sure that she was not going to get her third. All this while she had fully convinced herself that she should never see him again, but she had always hoped that when it finally happened, they would part peacefully — a scenario that was anything but this.

"Please don't leave like this." She grabbed his arm impulsively, all the worries she had of the complications between them momentarily forgotten. "I'm sorry, I really didn't mean it. Please, at least let me do something about that cut."

He turned towards her wordlessly, doubting the kindness she offered with an unconvinced scowl. The moment of silence unnerved her, and she decided not to wait for a reply. She quickly fished her keys out and opened the front door, then motioned for him to follow her into her flat.

She closed the door behind him and invited him to sit down while she busied herself with finding the things she needed. He took a seat on the sofa, and in the moment of solitude he started to doubt his decision to stay. This whole problem between them started off complicated enough, and it seemed like the harder they tried to reach for a resolution, the worse the situation got. He was already pushed to the edge; every word she speaks, every look she sends his way, every single touch from her hands leaves him more confused and broken than he already was. Still, her ambivalence was to him unfathomable temptation — she pushes him away, then pulls him back close, and he knows that her indecisiveness was only good for complicating things and messing with his sanity, yet he still feels powerless to walk away from her, like there was something unseen that was chaining him to her.

She soon came and sat down next to him, and gently lifted his face towards her, "Let me see that."

Their eyes met, and she quickly looked away, focusing on tending his cut with the damp towel in her hand. Her fingers were cold against his skin, contrasting the lukewarm towel that she ran along his other cheek, and he had to suppress the urge to take her hand into his and give her warmth, like he would have done in the past.

In the past, when everything was simple, and they were carefree and happy; when all that mattered was themselves alone.

And he had never hated himself as much as he did now for so foolishly let go of the happiness that was then already in his hands.

"It's my fault really. I shouldn't have fallen for that lie you told me back then."

She froze on her spot, not knowing how to respond to his sudden confession.

He pulls her hands down and rests them on his lap, enveloping them between his own palms. Surprisingly, she does not resist.

"All these years, I've been so angry at you, trying to blame everything on you so that it would make me feel a bit better. But I should have known. From the first day I met you, I knew you different, that you would never become the selfish and manipulative person you were pretending to be, and I should've realized that stupid lie you were telling me was just an act. I just don't know how I could've been so blind."

She kept her head down in guilt, "How could it be your fault if it was _my_ intention to lie to you?"

Her answer makes him more ashamed of himself than he already was. She was not even a competent liar to start with, and the excuse she gave him sounded lousy enough, yet he still had not been able to see through it all, falling hard and fast into this trap because of his own naivety. He starts to think maybe he does deserve this after all.

"Why? Why did you do it? There must have been another way out; you could've told me, and we would've figured something out together…"

"Telling you wouldn't have changed a thing," she cut in. Her words were soft and slow, and her amethyst orbs stared at him with a moment of resolute sincerity before awkwardly flitting away again. "Don't you understand? Muruta was determined, and it was no longer just about your company; anything could've happened to your father, and I wasn't going to take that risk. Either way, our relationship was doomed, and you'd still hate me, just for a different reason. I had to make a choice."

She quietly took her hands out from his grasp, pulling them close to herself and holding them together tightly. For some reason, it seemed to him that she was nervous, or afraid, but was trying to hide it from him. And it only made him more suspecting.

"I'd rather you hate me for being a selfish, conniving bitch than for being the murderer of your father."

The nonchalant tone of her voice contradicted the gravity of what was implied in her words, and it sounded so wrong.

"None of this really matters now." She said casually as her lips curved into a strained smile. She was trying to pretend, to believe in the very words she was saying; she was trying hard — a bit too hard, it seemed — and this time, he knew he should trust his instincts.

She quietly excused herself and got up from her seat, but as soon as she turned her back at him he stood up and grabbed her arm, pulling her into a tight embrace from behind. He rested his head against hers and softly whispered into her ears, "You're lying. You do care."

She visibly tensed up, the tell-tale sign of her being untruthful. His instincts were proven correct. "Natarle, this isn't how you want it to be. Say that you care. Tell me I'm right."

Her hands pulled feebly onto the arms wrapped around her, struggling to escape from her captor — _him_. Every pull of her hand was a stab at his heart. "It's so unfair. Why is it when even after all this time we still hold the same feelings towards each other, yet it seems like I'm the only who still cares so much, who still feels the pain?"

Her resistance stopped, and he felt her tremble under his hold. Was she angry? Was she afraid? Or was she...

He spun her around to face him, but she stubbornly kept her head down to avoid eye contact with him. He tried again, lifting her chin up with gentle firmness, and what he saw completely broke his heart.

Tears were flowing endlessly down her cheeks despite her efforts to hold them back, and her trembling, he realized, must have been her inward struggle to quieten her sobs and hide from him her weakness, to hold on to the last strand of pride she had.

He impulsively pulled her in, wrapping one arm firmly around her slim waist, and landed the other on the back of her head with a soft stroke.

"I'm sorry." Natarle cried between her muffled sobs with her face hid between his shoulders, her two hands clutching heavily onto the back of his shirt. She apologized repeatedly with only these two short words, as if nothing else was good enough to show her deep regret.

The strength and confidence evident in her usual self had completely disappeared without a trace, exposing the vulnerable and insecure side of her that she hated letting people see. Hearing her cry so helplessly only made him despise himself even more — for being so insensitive towards her true feelings all this time, and for having given in to his own jealousy and vengefulness.

He did not know what to say, or even if he should be saying anything at all; his gut feeling told him that anything that coming from him now would just add to the confusion and worsen the damage he had already done. All he could do was hold her tight in his embrace to comfort her, and to prove to her his most genuine feelings.

Her crying gradually came to a stop, and he lightly lifted her face up to wipe off the wetness on her cheeks. As he ran a thumb under her eye she caught hold of his hand, her eyes still glistening with tears she contended, "I do know how you feel… I _do_ care, but what was I supposed to do?" The agony she felt was clearly heard in her shaking voice, letting her emotions flow freely as if she was powerless to hold them back anymore. "I couldn't just go back on a decision I made because I didn't like what I already knew would happen!"

"Yes you could," Arnold declared in a firm tone, his emerald eyes staring intensely into hers. "Anything you want from me, I would give to you. My future, my love, my life. Just say the word, and it's yours."

This statement he made was so astounding and completely unexpected that she felt her ears numb by just hearing it. Not knowing how to respond, she could only stare back at him speechless.

"Do you know how difficult the past few years had been for me? For you to just leave like that when I was prepared to spend the rest of my life with you, how did you think I was going to live through it?"

She barely moved, or even breathed; the solemnity in his eyes made her unable to look away, and at that moment she realized that she had never truly understood how important she was to him. She took a small gasp, "Why-?"

He raised a hand up, lightly brushing the back of his fingertips against her cheek as his gaze softened into a more comforting one, "Natarle-"

"I'm not worth your devotion! After all these things I've done to you…why would you still-"

"Whether you're worth it is my decision to make. Stop making these stupid assumptions without my even asking me first."

Once again he makes a point which she finds herself unable argue against. She lowered her head regretfully; every statement he makes leaves her in a weaker position, yet his capricious words were like music to her ears, only making her yearn for more of his affection.

"Natarle, we've wasted enough time, can't we go back to how it was before this whole mess happened?"

His offer was so tempting that she almost wanted to hate him for even bringing it up, knowing that it was an offer she could not accept. "How _could_ we?" she asked in return, "I'm engaged to Muruta, how could I just break it off with him for no reason?"

"Why not?! You did exactly the same thing to me back then, why could you not do it to him now?"

"It's not the same!"

"Then what is the difference?"

"Because back then Isabella Morris didn't exist!"

The name she blurted out was a surprise to both of them. She could tell from the look on his face that he was not expecting her to even bring up the name of the other woman. But then, neither was she. She never understood the true natures of envy until this woman came along, and she does not want to admit to this weakness, but every time she sees her with Arnold or hears him mention her name, her jealousy would grow a bit more. And as this jealousy grew, so did the hate she had towards herself.

"She-…she's got nothing to do with this mess that is my fault, and it's not fair to make her pay for it." She stuttered as she spoke, trying hard to suppress this painful, choking feeling caught in her throat. "Whenever I think of this I would feel so guilty, so angry at myself for putting the blame on this sweet, innocent girl who only wants the best for you. If I took you away from her now, I would never forgive myself."

"So then I have to suffer for you to ease your conscience?" There was disappointment in his voice, and anger in his eyes. And he was not making any easier for her; if she had a better idea, they would not even be having this discussion now.

"Natarle, I don't want us to end here. At least not now." He pulled her in, his arms firmly holding on to her as if she would easily slip away as soon as he let go. "Maybe someday you'll marry Azrael and disappear from my life forever. Maybe Isabella is the one I'll be with in the end. But I don't care. I want you, I want to be with you, for as long as I can. Give me some more time, just a bit longer, for me to get used to saying goodbye, so when either of us needs to leave for good, it won't hurt anymore."

She fully understood the implications of his words, and she knew it was such a wrong thing to do, but at the same time, she knew she wanted it as much as he did. "Arnold…"

"Just once more, please. Once more, and I would let go," he swore to her, and to himself.

She pulled apart slightly, looking up at him with plea, "Please, just promise you won't leave Isabella behind because of me. Because I won't be able to do the same for you."

He seemed dissatisfied with the request she made, but still gave a slight nod of agreement. She knew at some point she would regret making this decision, but then it did not really matter now; she would just deal with it when the time came. Because this moment now was the most contented she had ever felt for a very long time.

She had opened Pandora's Box, and there was no turning back.

* * *

A/N: So, my supposedly one-month update took five whole frigging months. It's crazy. My school life, I mean. And I can guarantee you the next update won't come out so soon, cuz I've got quite a few deadlines and exams coming up within the next two weeks, and then a wedding in my extended family which I'm helping out with (yay!), so basically my schedule's packed. Which is also why I wanna get this chapter out now. This chapter is the longest I've ever written though (around 5.5k words), so I hope it sorta makes up for the lateness and everything else. :) (By the way, I only ran through the chapter once or twice after writing, so there'd prolly be tons of mistakes around, just shout out if you spot anything funny.)

So what happens after this? Well I guess I won't be starting on the next chapter yet, cuz at this rate of speed, if I wanna get a birthday fic out for Natarle's birthday, which I do, I'm gonna have to start like RIGHT NOW. So that comes first. :D

Anyhow, please do review! It really does keep me going to know that there are still readers out there who like my fics. Special thanks to CrimsonHowls, whose reviews and PMs always make my day (and get me back to writing :P)!

To MOI: Heh, your review made me all warm and fuzzy inside. :D Thanks! I hope you'll like this chapter as well, but I keep on having this feeling that it's too cheesy…


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